


Take A Dip

by BourbonOnTheRocks



Series: In The Eerie Light Of My Sleepless Nights [7]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: A Little Bit Of Mick x Annie But It's Mostly Friendship, Angst, Annie Is Fairly Drunk The Whole Time, Awkwardness, But He's Mostly Ridiculous, But Still Not For Contraceptive Purposes What Were You Thinking?, But Technically From Nobody, Choking, Competitive Morons, Consequently A Lot Of Steam, Dean is trash why is he even in this story?, Did I Mention Angst?, Drinking, F/M, Hints That Mick Is The True Boss, Hot Tub, Idiots Who Think That Coming First Is Losing, Improper use of sparkling drinks, Interrupted Sex, Mention/Discussions of Blowjobs as a Reward/Compensation, Mentions of Karaoke, Mentions of Puke and Other Body Fluids with Various Degrees of Disgusting, Mick And Rio Bantering In Spanish, More angst, More awkwardness, Oh And The Hitman Plot Is Still On, Post Season 3, Reference to Community Because I Have No Self-Control, Robe Stealing, Sauna, Seasons Are A Joke In This Universe So It's Summer, Semi-Public Sex, Serious Lack Of Basic Firearm Security, Sorry Not Sorry, Spas, To Be Fair Everyone Is Fairly Drunk, Warning: Does Contains Some Dean, blowjob, puking, vague fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:09:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24497713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BourbonOnTheRocks/pseuds/BourbonOnTheRocks
Summary: Set shortly after 3.11. Mick throws a big hot tub party at his place to celebrate the successful launch of Boland Bubbles. High awkwardness ensues.Written for the 2020 Good Girls Prompt - a -thon
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: In The Eerie Light Of My Sleepless Nights [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653067
Comments: 80
Kudos: 564
Collections: Good Girls Prompt-a-thon 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mamey2422](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamey2422/gifts).



> Original Prompt: Beth and Rio in a hot-tub together
> 
> Special shout out to [s_t_c_s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_t_c_s) who initially inoculated me with the ~~virus~~ idea of writing Mick's hot tubs parties a couple of months ago.

Saying that Boland Bubbles opening party was a blast would have been an understatement. Somehow, Dean had managed to coerce Gayle into sharing her whole contacts list with him — and to be honest Beth _really_ didn't want to know how he'd... made that happen. The only important thing to remember was that the showroom had been full all day with promoters and realtors, and that more than one business card exchange had occurred over the cocktail party.

With a little bit of luck, the order books would be full by the next month and the money would start flowing again. She'd have a lot of work to do to forge the book in a plausible yet lucrative way as a counterpart, but she chose not to think about it. Not tonight. Not after the success of the party. Cherry on the top, Rio had apparently refrained himself from making one of his trademark dramatic entrances, and the fear whitening Beth's already pale complexion in the early evening had gradually vanished as the night had gone by.

She allowed herself another glass of champagne. First this, and then she'd start cleaning up the place. Dean had taken Eric and the other employees for drinks in town, leaving her all by herself with all the cleaning to do, which was, well... typical of him. But also. Kind of a relief. On some level, she wasn't exactly eager to have to listen to him bragging about his seller's skills. Which were real. There was no denying about that. He just... tended to forget that _she_ was the one who'd made all of it possible. That if she'd had to rely on him to find a way to pay the mortgage and fill the fridge, she'd still be struggling with endless variations of pasta cooking to feed the kids wile he'd deliver French fries all over town.

Plus, tidying was somehow her moment. A moment of peace, alone with her thoughts, the automatism of scrubbing and wiping relaxing her brain. And she had to admit it. It felt good to be alone and contemplate her kingdom. The one that _she_ 'd built, by herself, and that nobody had given her the key for. The one she'd worked for, and paid for, and okay, maybe Rio had vaguely handed her the keychain at some point but—

"Knock knock."

The most exhausted voice in the world wouldn't have been able to bring so many unexcited nuances of joyless irony. She startled anyway. She wasn't expecting anyone here, especially not around midnight. She turned around, her heart jumping in her throat, to face Mick's unimpressed silhouette at the other end of the showroom. He eyed her with a complete lack of enthusiasm.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, aghast.

"So business went good, huh?" he replied, fairly ignorant of her question.

She defiantly crossed her arms over her chest, "How would you know?"

He chuckled. Gave her a look clearly suggesting that he had overestimated her smartness.

"Been here all day," he eventually grunted.

She rolled her eyes, maybe let her eyelids flutter a little before she eventually came back at staring at him with a shoulder wave and a daring move of her chin. _Go on_.

He... very ostensibly took his time, wandering through the spas exhibition until she got sick of it and revived their barely conversation with an acid, feigned honey-dripping voice, "You know, I'll be happy to have one of our managers guiding you through our different features, but at this time of the night—"

"The boss wants to celebrate."

She sucked in a gasp, vaguely retching at the thought. The words _Rio_ and _celebrate_ somehow didn't get along in the same sentence. Or only for the worst.

_What are we celebratin'?_

She swallowed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Mick gave her a knowing nod, and... was that a wink?

"Means you never got to christen my tub."

Oh no, no, no. Anything but this.

"And I can live without it," she dryly replied.

He tsked, casting her a glance full of irony, "Saturday night works for ya?"

She blinked. Several times. How did they eventually get there so fast, again?

"What are we talking about exactly?" she asked, furrowing her eyebrows in what she hoped was a threatening expression.

He shrugged, unimpressed by her attempt to look tough. But he got the decency to seem vaguely sorry for her.

"I'm just hostin' a party. We celebratin' your success. It'd be a shame not to have the birthday girl there, don't ya think?"

Was it her or was there a slight hint of threat behind the flattery?

"Can I bring someone?" she immediately replied.

A warning more suitable for general audience than bringing herpes on the table.

He raised a pierced brow but curtly nodded, "Sure. The more the merrier."

She inhaled. Not that she'd been imagining things but... maybe a little. Mick never had, well, hit on her _per se_. And she wasn't exactly sure of what he may or may not know regarding some very specific... history. But sometimes he fancied some really, really ambiguous speech.

"Fine," she decided, her shoulders sagging a little at the prospect.

Did she even have a choice anyway?

***

"So... You're going to a party. At Gangfriend's friend's house. Involving _hot tubs_. "

Annie punctuated her speech with an abrupt gesture of her hand, oblivious of the glass of wine she was holding and almost spilling out the red liquid.

"Stop calling him that!" Beth protested. "Besides, it's not as if I had a choice. You should have seen the look on Mick's face!"

"And you're bringing Dean," Annie kept talking, ignoring her sister. "I thought he didn't know about, you know, your... _involvments_?" she added with a frown of feigned confusion.

"Well, he's not that stupid, Annie!" Beth replied, shaking her head. And maybe, at this very moment, a part of her wished he was. "I had to tell him eventually," she admitted in a sigh, almost defeated.

"Doesn't mean that you have to bring _him_!" Annie gritted through her teeth. "Of all people. You know that he's going to get both of you killed, right?"

She was joking. Probably. Beth refilled her own glass.

"Please, don't be so dramatic!" she protested. "First of all, it's his business too. Sort of. Trust me, I cannot _not_ bring him. And second of all... nobody's going to kill anybody."

Beth's voice seemed to naturally fade in the end and Annie casted her a knowing glance before she loudly cleared her throat in an anything but subtle fashion.

"Any chance you heard from Fitzie recently?" she asked in a deliberately low voice.

Which was useless since they were both alone in Beth's kitchen. But Annie had a borderline maniac tendency to act around as if she was living in an spy movie. Which... may not be so far from the truth, after all.

Beth rolled her eyes, "Hey, don't call him that."

"So you didn't, huh?"

"Last week he sent me a stack of bills from IHOP. And trust me this time he didn't only go for the eggs B," she sighed.

"Seriously, what is the guy waiting for?" Annie wondered, her eyebrows pinched in concentration.

Beth sighed even deeper. This was not how she'd figured things would work out when she'd hired Fitzpatrick. She'd imagined something quick. Anonymous. You wake up one morning, turn the TV on, and pooof. Done. She'd thought that all her problems would have gone away but apparently she'd only created some new ones so far.

She looked back at Annie, a conflicted expression probably printed on her face if the tension she could feel in her facial muscles was anything to go by.

"Whatever it is, it won't be solved by Saturday," she muttered, exhaustion leaking from her armor.

Annie pensively took a sip and Beth poured herself another serving. She needed to think, and if this brainstorming session didn't lead her anywhere, at least the blissful haze of wine would help her forget about why she'd needed one in the first place.

"Okay," Annie announced out of nowhere, loudly putting her glass back on the counter. "I'll go with you."

"What?"

This was _not_ what Beth had expected to see coming out of the said brainstorming session.

"Hey, you cannot expect me to sit down here motionless while you are taking Deansie on a suicide mission. I'm only human, you know?" Annie replied, raising one eyebrow while her mouth curved in a cocky smile.

Beth closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. God, Annie _really_ thought that her life was a movie. In which she probably figured that she played the part of the veteran hero who would sacrifice themselves in one last mission for glory, honor, or something. Which... didn't exactly sound like her. Since when was Annie _chaperoning_ people? She frowned.

"What?" her sister asked with wide, innocent eyes.

Beth glared at her.

"Annie!" she chided with the severe voice she used back in the days when her teenage sister was hiding something from her. Mostly pot, at the time.

Eventually Annie gave up in front of Beth's savage look, "Fine. It's a _hot-tub_! Do I need to elaborate?"

Beth was about to lecture her sister when the gears in her brain suddenly resumed working. And maybe this was the wildness of the booze talking, but... She'd told Mick she'd bring _someone_. She'd never specified how many people exactly she intended to involve. And, well. Maybe she'd need some moral support there. The prospect of enduring a wet and steamy evening in the company of Mick, potentially Rio, and... Dean was, well, already horrifying. She could use her sister's constant — and quite bitchy — stream of opinions to keep her awake and going. Not that she intended of letting her know that, though.

"Okay," she eventually said with a welcoming smile, "You can come."

Annie almost choked on her wine at Beth's abrupt mood switch, a vision actually priceless. Her sister was probably expecting a much longer fight, maybe she'd even started polishing her argumentative weapons, and Beth's sudden agreement had just left her disoriented. Annie always had a sharp response ready to throw at anyone so catching her off-guard wasn't easy. And such an achievement felt... quite rewarding, to be fair. 

Three days later, Annie opened her door with an excited squeak suggesting that she'd probably begun warming up before the actual party had even started and Beth instantly regretted having agreed for her sister to come.

"Are you ready? Dean is waiting in the car," she said, maybe a little more bossily than she actually intended.

"Course he is!" Annie giggled before she suddenly asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipated gossip, "Come one sis, give me some dream material... What are you wearing?"

Beth rolled her eyes. Jesus. Maybe Annie hadn't just _warmed up_. Maybe the whole party had already happened in her sister's brain and her synapses were just living a life of their own. She deeply inhaled, trying to stay calm.

"Did you suddenly go blind?" she asked, incredulous and discreetly peeking at her summer dress just in case there would be something wrong with it.

Annie shook her head with a wide grin, "Naaaah. Come on... I mean, in the bathing suit department."

Great. This was even worse than Beth had expected.

"Not because it's a hot tub party means that I have to take a dip," she said, reprobating.

She meant it. The night would be enough of an awkward nightmare, she didn't need to add _that_ to the whole picture. So after giving it some thoughts, she'd deliberately left any bathing item at home. Rio might be a dick but he wouldn't push the humiliation that far. Nobody could force her to hang out in a hot tub, and that last thought was somehow comforting. Brought her a few crumbs of power and pride in what could only but be a massive farce.

Annie opened bulging eyes and let out an appalled — and frankly quite reproving — whistle.

"Elizabeth Irene Marks, where have your sense of fun gone?"

"Away from my serial-killing boss, that's a sure thing," Beth impatiently replied. Before she suddenly realized, "Why are you asking me that? Since when do you... Oh no. No, you didn't. Please tell me you didn't!"

"I totally did!" Annie replied with a smug grin, fumbling under her shirt to display a red shoulder strap, "If a hot tub party is not a Baywatch suit showtime, then I don't know what is!"

Oh boy. Beth had already seen that thing on Annie over a couple of memorable occasions. It was obscenely indecent, and clearly not designed for partying with criminals.

Just like when she'd thought that the premise of the night couldn't go worse.

***

Ruby had categorically refused to come. After Annie had forcefully wormed her way to an invitation, Beth had felt that she couldn't not invite her too, but her best friend had rolled her eyes with a horrified expression.

"Are you for real? I am not paddling in waters full of criminals!" she'd said.

She'd offered to watch the kids instead. And to call Beth with a fake emergency pretext on simple request if things got too awkward or cringey, or simply in the eventuality that Beth would need a convincing reason to leave early.

Beth checked her phone in the elevator. Honestly, she was _this close_ to message Ruby already and ask her to call right now. God. She didn't want to go. At all. By her side, Dean was nervously staring at the ground, and even Annie's low whistle in her back sounded a bit too cheerful to be true. And this elevator ride was so long! She checked her messages again, perhaps looking for a mistake in Mick's text, but it did say 35th floor. And the digicode he'd provided had worked, so...

The elevator's door opened, and as the three of them stepped outside, Beth gasped.

"Fuck me!" Annie hissed under her breath.

Beth let out a throaty noise of approval, quite unsure of what she was looking at.

"You didn't tell me it was a _rooftop_ party," Annie added with a little choked voice.

"Because I didn't—"

"Hey!"

Mick suddenly materialized in front of them, wearing an unusual combination of flip-flops and black swim pants under a white T-shirt. One of his hands was holding a quite unexpected colorful cocktail with a little paper umbrella on top of it, and Beth's eyes widened in bewilderment as she wondered if she'd suddenly entered a parallel dimension.

"Mrs. Boland," he greeted, "Glad ya made it. Everyone's not here yet, but we got Rosa and Chad by the pool" — he waved at a young couple lounging by the infinity pool that occupied at least one third of the terrace, with a panoramic view over Detroit's skyline — "Johnny's at the outside bar over there, and Carlos is probably hangin' out in the sauna."

He let out a low giggle at the mention of Carlos' whereabouts, as if it was some kind of running joke between them. Beth blinked. When Mick had asked for a hot-tub, she hadn't thought that this would be a... complement to what he already owned. She had to force some air into her lungs to be able to speak again.

"I... I didn't know you had a sauna," she eventually said in what was probably the lamest reply of all times.

Because sure, the sauna was the most remarkable thing there. Not to mention the _giant_ swimming pool. And the whole terrace. The timber sauna cabin was standing in the opposite corner of the roof, not far from Mick's recently acquired spa, and the whole place was tastefully decorated with potted plants and colored garden lamps providing a dim yet warm light in the summer early evening.

Mick smiled, following Beth's gaze, "Yeah, thought a hot tub would fit in there, don't ya think?"

"Makes... quite a nice ensemble," Annie approved with a feeble voice.

Mick cheerfully nodded, genuine pride dripping from his demeanor, "Okay make yourself comfortable, feel free to grab a drink, and caterin' should be here any minute—"

"Wait, you hired a caterer too?" Annie exclaimed as Dean darted towards the bar, mumbling something about getting them some drinks. 

Mick chuckled as an answer and slowly made his way back to the pool.

"Beth, can I talk to you for a sec?" Without waiting for her sister's response, Annie grabbed her arm and dragged her a few steps away. "Okay, new plan. You need to call off Fitzie! And get back in Gangfriend's good graces. Know what I mean?"

God. What now?

"What? Why? And stop calling... _them_ that!"

Annie looked at her with giant eyes, gestured around her as if it was obvious.

"Uh... Hello? Have you seen where this guy _lives?_ I mean, how much do you think he makes a year? More than we could ever do over a legit lifetime!"

"And have you also seen this guy murdering our friend and co-worker in front of us? This money comes with a price, Annie!"

"Well, at least there's money, _coming_... Also I don't remember you being so concerned about ethics when you were too busy banging Gangfriend!" Annie energically shushed, keeping a low voice.

"I didn't—"

"And I'm pretty sure that the job description doesn't require a GED!"

"Oh great, so go interview everyone here about their criminal résumé!" Beth angrily snapped although she regretted it immediately.

There was a bitterness in Annie's voice that she already knew too well. The sad resignation her sister displayed every time she was at a low point in her life and on her way to convince herself that she wasn't good enough. And having failed at her first GED session had really dug a hole in Annie's self esteem. More than Beth had known, she realized. She bit her lips, apologetic. She wished she had seen sooner that Annie was more affected by this than she pretended to be. 

She didn't get to say it, though, as Annie hissed a, "Oh I intend to!" between her teeth before she stormed out, fulminating.

Dean came back with drinks in his hands and a goofy smile on his face maybe one second later, and just... could she ever catch a break?

"Bethie, you need to check this out, this bar is amaz— What's wrong with her?" he asked, casting a vaguely curious glance at Annie.

Beth shrugged dismissively. Not now. She didn't want to have to explain to Dean the nature of her argument with Annie, aside from its obvious criminal implications. 

She shook her head, "Never mind. It's just... stuff."

She gratefully grabbed the drink he was handing her and she half-downed it in one gulp. God, they'd only been there for five minutes, and this was already topping the list of the worst parties she'd ever attended. And that list included some _terrible_ high school mishappenings.

A crease appeared between Dean's eyebrows and she mentally sighed as she could literally see the cogs and gears in his brain working and bringing back his eternal obsession.

"Do you mean stuff stuff, or book club stuff?"

She closed her eyes for an instant. Jesus. Did he even realize where he was at the moment?

"Dean!" she protested in a loud whisper. "Not everything is about book club. And don't... _mention_ that here!"

He grumbled like a grounded child, mumbled something sounding halfway between protest and agreement, and they slowly walked to the pool in silence.

"Hey, have you seen these deckchairs?" he suddenly asked with a Santa-certified level of enthusiasm, "They would look dope in our backyard, don't you think?"

She sighed.

"We can't even afford a mattress, Dean!" she tiredly reminded him.

She crashed in the nearest available seat by the pool, unwilling to socialize with anyone. At least Rio wasn't there, which was weird but relieving. Dean didn't sit though. He looked intimidated.

"Bethie?" he asked.

"Mhh?"

"Who the fuck are Rosa and Chad?"

And... fine. Maybe Dean had some qualities after all. At least, sometimes he made her laugh.

***

Beth took a sip of her fifth drink of the night. Minus a few round trips to the bar and buffet for refills — the food and drinks were of excellent quality, all the good stuff, really — she had barely left her now preferred deck chair for the past couple of hours. The party seemed to be a success though. Another row of three or four people had arrived maybe half an hour after her. With a little twitch in her chest she'd recognized the girl Rio had hugged in a parking lot so long ago that it felt like a memory from a former life, really, but she'd refused to give it more thoughts than necessary.

It didn't matter. She wasn't eager to blend anyway. She didn't fit. The few girls there were all young and thin, with perfect tanned skins and adjusted bikinis. And the guys were... well, mostly Rio's boys from what she inferred. These people were closer to Annie's age than hers to begin with, and crime was probably her only commonality with them. And she wasn't sure that the current, quite tumultuous state of her relationship with their boss would be of any help in case she'd need a conversation opener. 

Even Dean seemed more comfortable at this than her. A last statement actually surprising. After he'd gotten over his sudden shyness following the moment he'd realized that he was attending some _'mob party'_ as he'd said himself, he was apparently spending the night bonding with people and trying to sell them a spa for what she'd heard. And sometimes he'd come to her to rave about some piece of furniture that he liked. Of course everything was gorgeous there! The whole place was probably worth millions. It didn't mean that she had to sell her kidney to buy some stupid deck chairs or whatever. Although she had to admit that this chair was really comfortable.

Beth was dreamily caressing the cushion fabric of the said chair, her head a little dizzy, when Annie heavily crashed in the seat next to hers, holding one drink in each hand. She shook her head to get rid of the damp locks of hair stuck on her face, sending a cascade of water droplets over Beth's bare knees in the process. Beth had watched her sister romping in the swimming pool for the past thirty minutes, and she had to admit that this Baywatch swimsuit looked _really good_ on her. Gorgeous, even.

And from what Beth had witnessed earlier, that last fact didn't seem to have been lost on neither Mick or that other guy supposedly named Johnny. Annie had spent quite some time chatting with them over the evening, and the way they both had eyed her was borderline concerning. Not that Beth planned to make any comment about it, though. Annie would probably retort with some invocation of the way Rio used to look at her, which had _nothing_ to do with this whole Baywatch situation, but whatever.

Annie wordlessly handed Beth one of the glasses, in some kind of alcoholic peace offering that she gratefully accepted.

"So, apart from the obvious fact that you're drinking alone in the darkest corner of the terrace, are you okay?" Annie asked, loudly slurping her own drink in a way that made Beth suddenly hate the concept of straws.

"No more and no less than when we arrived..." she said with a sigh. "Why?"

"It's just that, you know... Dylan is here," Annie whispered in a plotting murmur.

Beth frowned. And okay, maybe she'd had a few by then, but this didn't ring a bell _at all_. Either she'd missed an important piece of information somewhere or Annie had some explaining to do.

"Who?"

"Sorry, I meant _Pill Beth_ ," Annie explained, and _oh_. At least that vaguely made sense. "Maybe she _is_ his girlfriend after all," her sister speculatively added, still casually producing straw noises going beyond human possibility.

"I don't care."

And she meant it. She didn't care. Not anymore, at least. Plus Rio wasn't even there to begin with. But if he showed up, well... Sure, maybe she had wondered about the way he'd act around... what was her name again? Right, _Dylan_. But the answer to that question wouldn't make any difference to her.

Annie probably misinterpreted the dry indifference in Beth's voice, though.

"Hey, you have the right to be triggered," she started, sympathetic, "I'm just say—"

"Well, I'm not!" Beth shook her head with a bit of annoyance. "Do I have to remind you that I — we — just hired a hit on this man? I don't care about who's the last person he'll sleep with."

"Then you're looking at his widow," Annie sententiously replied, taking another sip and looking in front of her as if she was contemplating some metaphysical mystery of the universe revealing itself in front of her. "So sad..." she added with a dreamy voice.

"Hey, will you just stop?" Beth protested.

Rio eventually showed up, though. Because of course he would. Probably purposefully late. Annie gasped for some unknown reason which had most likely a lot to do with booze when he stepped out of the elevator and Beth's eyes narrowed. As she watched him greeting people and drawing attention over himself, she couldn't deny that there was something mesmerizing about him. A feline grace maybe, combined with a natural authority and overflowing charisma that slightly altered the atmosphere of the party the same way a new sun would affect planets trajectories with gravitational forces. He _attracted_ people in his orbit. And because she'd also gravitated in his surroundings back then, she'd never noticed the effect he had on other people.

He put on a whole show at taking an exaggerated amount of time to acknowledge her presence. An obviously calculated move, given his established observations skills and his usual tendency to eye her first as if she was literally the only human in the room. And such a shift in their dynamic wasn't exactly... unexpected. To be fair, after his flirtatious attempt the night she'd got the keys to Boland Bubbles, she'd acted as distant as she could over the extremely rare occasions he'd showed up for his cut or some book-checking. She'd avoided him, as much as possible, and she hadn't even told the girls about it. Because... There was something terrifying, and awfully twisted, and just... _gross_ , in the idea that a man that she'd shot and was still planning to kill, a man who'd murdered her friend in front of her and tortured her in every possible way over the past few months, well... that man was still attracted to her. And the scariest part was that it probably wouldn't take him long to convince her.

She was still in the middle of her introspective freak-out when he eventually decided to come and say _Hi_.

"Ladies."

She reluctantly rolled her eyes up at him, met his ironic gaze. She suddenly felt incredibly small, overpowered, and the fact that Annie and she were both slouched over deck chair while he was standing in front of them, towering them really, clearly didn't help.

He clocked the frustration in her eyes and smirked, "Havin' fun?"

"Very," she icily replied.

"Cool."

He was about to leave, wrapped in sharp sarcasm, when Annie loudly snorted at him and he arched a brow, patiently waiting for the resolution of this unexpected development.

"Chill out, dude. It's a pool party!" Annie sneered.

Which made even less sense. Confusion briefly bloomed on Rio's face before he buried it under a double layer of irony. He gave his shoulders a small roll and Beth, following the motion, suddenly got it. Rio was wearing his usual dark buttoned up attire, combined with fitted jeans and sneakers, and outside of herself he was the only person there who wasn't dressed for any kind of aquatic distraction. Which was somehow... comforting. At least some people had _taste_ around here!

Rio suddenly caught Beth's eyes on him and he ironically trailed his gaze over her body in retaliation, with something obscenely filthy in the way the tip of his tongue came out to lick at his lips. When his eyes jumped back at hers, Beth couldn't tell if he'd noticed the obvious outfits mismatch between Annie and her, and the consequent explanation to the latter's derisive comment. To be honest he had barely reacted to Annie's particularly revealing attire in the first place. His eyes still focused on Beth, he let out a little snort before he just left.

"Jeez, what is wrong with this guy?" Annie asked with astonishment as she watched him join Mick and Carlos at the bar and grab a beer.

"Who cares?" Beth replied, repressing a yawn.

Maybe she slightly fell asleep at some point. Or at least she was very much lost in unknown thoughts, but her attention had fairly drifted when Annie woke her up from her state of torpor.

"Huh," she said. 

Which could have been the end of it. Beth had no interest in knowing what had drawn such a reaction from her sister, especially when she was known for behaving oddly in front of harmless things when she was drunk.

"He does touch her a lot..." Annie slowly elaborated, before she unnecessarily added, "I'm talking about Pill Beth."

Something tensed inside of Beth's shoulders. Annie's insistence on that matter was really annoying.

"Again, Annie, I don't care!"

Annie casted her a side glance and just shrugged before she picked a glass on the wooden floor of the terrace.

"Here, I got you a new one while you were napping."

Beth was past the point where she still kept score of how many drinks she'd had. And this one was probably unreasonable, but whatever. She clinked the top of her glass with the neck of Annie's beer bottle and she pensively took a sip, watching the water ripples dance at the surface of the pool and send sparkles of reflected light shaped in endlessly twisting ephemeral patterns .

"Oh, he also touches Mick... Maybe he's just handsy," Annie spoke again, apparently still in the middle of a deep investigation of Rio's actions.

Beth took a deep breath with the intention to shut her sister up but Annie immediately followed up with her next conclusion.

"Or... Maybe he wants to bone Mick too!" she victoriously exclaimed.

Beth snorted, halfway through exasperation and amusement at the thought.

"Hey, not everything in people's interactions is about sex!" she protested.

"Well, tell that to Dr. Freud..."

Beth raised an brow, surprised.

"Since when do you know a thing about Freud?"

Annie gave her a smug grin, bringing her beer bottle to her lips and taking a sip before she answered with a cocky wave of her eyebrows, "Been studying a lot, lately."

Beth smiled and Annie suddenly got back to her feet. She ran her palms over her ribs, smoothing the fabric of her already too adjusted swimsuit and mischievously grinned back at her sister.

"Well, well, well... Time to try this hot-tub I've heard so much about!" she said.

Beth raised her glass at her in approval and Annie winced.

"What?"

"Oops sorry... they're called spaaas," Annie rectified in an impressively good impersonation of Dean.

She was long gone when Beth stopped laughing.

***

At some point the hot tub ceased to be the main attraction of the night. Someone had started a drinking game or something, and everyone's attention and body had consequently drifted to the bar area, which had given Beth some latitude to wander around without having to talk to anyone. To her huge relief, nobody had asked her to give a speech or perform any kind of acknowledgement that this party was supposed to celebrate the launch of Boland Bubbles. At this point, she was half-convinced that it had only been a pretext to pressure her into coming, but she didn't really care as long as nobody talked to her at all.

She stared at the spa for protracted minutes, tempted. It did look appealing. And Annie had said that the feeling was incredible, and her sister couldn't be wrong about _everything_. And... Well, the whole point was that it was empty, and that nobody was looking. What was the harm of giving it a try, treat herself just for once? 

She glanced over her shoulder, assessed the situation. Dean was loudly snoring, sprawled on a deck chair by the pool, probably exhausted from his efforts to blend in. Annie was knocking back shot after shot of tequila with Mick, a probably concerning behavior, but she couldn't parent her sister all the time, right? Let Annie make her decisions and regret them over the next morning, when her head would ache and her stomach wouldn't handle anything solid. And Rio was... well, for what she could see, he was busy, if such a term could apply to him chatting with two of the random young guys whose names she'd forgotten, probably even never known, and who she assumed were boys of his. At least he was far away. And not looking at her. Which was... already a lot.

She looked back at the steaming, empty hot tub, torn at the silent invitation of the water swirling and bubbling, occasionally splashing the edge of the tub when a ripple would hit the wall too hard, and she made her decision in an instant. The terrace was furnished with nicely polished wooden benches and fluffy towels piled on top of them. Because of course it was. She snorted. Seriously, what kind of hot-tub party would it be if it didn't display towels and benches coming straight from a cover of Elle Decor? She quickly got rid of her clothes, carefully folding and piling them on the nearest bench she could find and keeping only her bra and panties on. Okay. Maybe she should have listened to Annie and brought a swimsuit, just in case. But underwear basically covered the same amount of skin, right? Besides, taking a dip while nobody was watching was precisely the point.

Wrapped in a towel, she climbed in the tub, only getting rid of the fleece fabric at the last minute, and she shivered in delight at the temperature shock against her skin. She leaned in a corner and closed her eyes, let her body slowly relax for a while in the warm embrace of the water, allowed herself the luxury to stop counting the minutes and just enjoy the moment. She even indulged into turning off her stressed out brain, stopped the ever running wheel of worries that had started turning in her teenage years and seemed to never have stopped ever since.

Annie was right, though. The things that a few hundreds of gallons of warm and whirling water did to your body were _fantastic_. She sighed in comfort and pleasure, maybe even moaned a little. For a while, she just played with the swirling undercurrents, running her fingers through the whirlwinds and reveling in the lapping of the water, a soft lullaby to her ears.

She experimentally pressed a button on the controlling panel and some massaging jets suddenly gushed in her back and around her thighs, and she couldn't repress a groan of approval. She couldn't believe that she was selling literal heavens as a job without even knowing it. God, she hadn't felt so good since... well, she couldn't even tell. She slid a soaked finger against the panel, increased the jets pressure and every cell in her body thanked her as the powerful streams were undoing the knots in her muscles, caressing her skin, touching her like... well, it had been a while since anyone had touched her like this and —

"Mind if I join?"

The interruption had her almost jumping, her eyes fluttering open and angrily focusing on the displeasing source of disturbance. Not that there was any remaining doubts about the identity of the said source. Standing in front of the spa, Rio was watching her, smirking although his eyes seemed slightly darker than the usual, a towel wrapped around his hips and two glasses in his hands. And, just... what? When had he gotten rid of his clothes? Last time she'd checked he was still fully buttoned up and animatedly talking to Mick.

He wordlessly dropped one of the glasses on her side of the tub's edge and the fragrance of bourbon hit her senses. Her gaze quickly dropped down on her chest, making sure that the bubbling water was foggy enough to cover the exposed skin of her breast and the fact that she was actually wearing her bra. The ambient light was pretty dim, but at this point she wouldn't even have been surprised to learn that Rio had deep abilities to see in the dark.

She hesitated. Honestly... yes. She minded. She'd chosen to try the water when everyone was busy elsewhere for a _reason_ , and not having to face him was one of these. Especially a shirtless version of him. She would never bless enough the half-light for sparing her the blatant vision that even her worst nightmares had avoided so far.

On the other hand... well, he'd been civilized enough to bring her a drink, a tempting manipulative move that she craved for once. And denying him access to a hot tub which wasn't even hers was, well, rude. She wouldn't surrender without fighting, though. Or at least tease him a bit.

"I thought you said that hot tubs spread diseases?" she lightly replied, raising an eyebrow.

For one second she considered the idea of reminding him that she'd claimed having a STD in front of Mick but it would have been a gross low, even for her.

He chuckled.

"They're called spas," he retorted, ignoring her protest and unwrapping the towel to reveal his plain black swimming pants before he climbed in the tub with her.

She looked away the whole time, refusing to stare at his body, terrified to catch a glimpse of the game of spot-the-difference that she'd drawn on his torso since the last time she'd seen him this naked. It was only once she'd made sure that the moving water was hiding the most part of his exposed skin that she deigned rolling her eyes back at him with a sigh, a vaguely hostile expression on her face. Just because he was there didn't mean that she had to talk to him, or worse, _entertain_ him.

He didn't seem to mind, though.

He raised his glass with a nod at her and she conceded him a, "Thank you for the drink," in a polite yet reluctant murmur that made him smirk.

He'd actually been civil enough to settle in the opposite corner of the spa, the furthest away from her, and for a few minutes he kept quiet and silent. Surprisingly respectful of her peace, the silence between them only broken by the low rumble of water and their occasional sips.

But all the relaxation she'd gotten from her earlier dip was gone, his presence tensing her every muscle, and she couldn't just chill and close her eyes again in front of him, knowing that he could scratch her with sharp claws any minute. She always needed to be prepared with him. On her guard. Anything could happen.

"Brought your whole crew, huh?" he suddenly asked, breaking the relative silence so abruptly that she almost jumped again.

God, she'd gotten used to the quiet _really_ fast!

She jerked her chin a bit, slightly straightened her shoulders to the maximal extent she could allow herself without revealing too much of her cleavage above the water.

"Mick said I could bring whoever I wanted," she replied, daring.

"And your husband is who you want?" he asked, his voice toeing the thin line between incredulity and disgust.

She furiously ran her palm along her face, wiping the thin sheen of sweat and condensation that the steam had left on her skin. She hated that Rio was actually forcing her to take Dean's defense.

"Well, he co-owns Boland Bubbles. And this is a party to celebrate the launch, right?" she replied, daring.

He spread his arms over the edges of the tub, took his time to stretch his shoulder with a knowing smirk blooming on his lips, and she tried really hard not to look at the gleaming wet skin of his upper chest.

"C'mon Elizabeth..." he said in a low, lascivious drawl. "You and I, we both know the truth."

He looked straight in her eyes and his tongue darted out, shamelessly wetting his lips. She shook her head, furious against him. And maybe a little against the quiver that had run through her belly like butterflies too.

"Yes, and it is that you and him are both idiots who think that they own this business! Well guess what, it's mine."

There. She'd said it.

His jaw rocked and he looked away, gritting a pissed off, "Right," between his teeth.

But when he looked back at her, his gaze had regained its usual and dangerous playfulness. He jerked his chin at her, bit his lips.

"So whatchu think, huh?" he asked.

"Of what?"

"Spas," he said with a lazy grin, dipping one hand in the water to gently splash her. "Gotta try what you sell, right?"

She playfully splashed him back, enjoying the sudden innocence of the moment. She didn't know how that happened, how sometimes things could switch so easily with him from heaviness to something genuine and relaxed. How he could laugh and joke with her in her backyard, or splatter her with a wide childlike smile on his face, while still being exactly a minute away from his usual scary and intimidating self.

She smiled, mischievous, "Oh, like you tried all the pills you sold, back then?"

He smirked, his gaze focused on that invisible spot under the water where her breasts were, "Not that it's any of your business but I did."

She looked at him, incredulously scoffing.

"Even the boner ones?"

His eyes snapped back at her face, his gaze intense and probably a little surprised by her boldness, acting like a whiplash hitting her brain. Maybe... maybe she'd just pushed that game a little too far. Flirting with him was far from topping the list of her priorities, especially after... everything, but the warm water, the booze, the soft peace of the moment, it just...

"Think I needed 'em?"

He stared at her, dark and burning gaze under heavy lashes, and she shook her head, mesmerized, unable to even _speak_. Her lips parted, her tongue seeming to have developed a conscience of its own and wandering out of her control on her bottom lip, tasting the salt on her flushed skin.

She took a sip of her drink to give herself some composure, pretended that she wasn't internally squirming under the weight of his challenging look.

"You tell me," she eventually croaked, her throat burning with alcohol and her mouth dry from the suffocating tension surging between them in seething spurts.

There was a beat. His eyes trailed down from her eyes to her mouth, then her upper chest, and she could tell from the mocking expression on his face the exact moment when he figured out that she was wearing her bra. He shifted in his seat, his leg brushing hers under the water, and she couldn't tell if this was coincidental or not. And maybe she didn't want to know.

She took him in, all tanned skin dripping with water, hard muscles rippling under the surface and plump lips she suddenly wanted to bite. She kept trying not to look directly at his chest, avoided his left side, but she couldn't help catching a few glimpses of the damages she'd caused, and she... wasn't sure of how it made her feel.

She didn't get the time to elaborate, though. Rio was chewing on his lips, and he seemed about to say something when Annie, Dylan and Mick suddenly barged in the hot-tub, the three of them carrying an insane amount of drinks in their hands and leaving loud giggles — based on Annie's high-pitched voice, they were probably completely drunk — and merry water splashes in their wake, instantly destroying the fragile bubble of peace Beth had somehow managed to build with Rio over the past half-hour.

The atmosphere definitely changed, the blanks filled with laughter, the space packed with five people occupying a four-seats tub, and Rio gave her a look halfway between longing and challenge from the opposite side of the spa. And she should have looked away and talked to the other people, she really should have. This was a godsend opportunity to escape from the slow magnetic choreography she'd started dancing again with him. But it was too late for that. She just couldn't get her eyes off of him. If she was meant to burn her wings, it would be against his flame.

Annie was sitting by Rio's side and she suddenly poked him in the arm with her elbow.

"Hey Gangfriend, I've got a question for you!"

"Oh boy..." Beth immediately bent her head and palmed her face, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers and wishing Annie could stop talking right away.

Rio raised a curious eyebrow at her and Mick guffawed, which apparently Annie took as an encouragement.

"What kind of legit job did you want to do as a kid? I mean you can't have always dreamt of becoming, like, Detroit's Voldemort, right?"

For a split second Beth clocked surprise flickering in Rio's eyes and he slightly frowned, but soon his lips twisted into a mocking grin.

He winked at Mick, "¿Cuánto tomó?"

"Mucho."

"Hey I'm not drunk!" Annie protested with a surprising sense of understanding given her current state. She squinted at Rio, an expression of deep and serious empathy printed on her face. "I'm serious! Tell me... What made you cry at night as a kid? What did you _dream_ of?" she dramatically whispered.

"Sueños..." Mick echoed under his breath, sneering in his beard.

"Okay that's enough!" Beth protested, internally promising herself that she would never let Annie worm her way to any event involving Rio in the future.

Rio decidedly ignored her intervention. He comfortably leaned against the tub wall, propping himself on his elbows so his chest popped up and Beth suddenly noticed how obscenely in display the... _marks_ were. She couldn't blatantly ignore them any longer. But the worst part was that literally anybody could see those scars, see what she'd done to him. Mick, Annie, Dylan, they couldn't _not_ see them. God, even Dean wouldn't have missed the show if he'd been awake for this!

She felt herself blushing with embarrassment and she bit her lips, lowering her gaze and hiding her face behind her glass as Rio casually grinned at Annie.

"I for sure didn't dream 'bout havin' to deal with amateur bitches who can't get their shit sorted," he replied.

His eyes snapped back to Beth midsentence and she almost gasped, hating the way he could read her mind, hating how he'd done it all on purpose, exhibiting the evidence in front of everyone, the allusion clear as spring water.

Far away in the distance she heard Annie replying with a, "Bro, that's rude!" but she wasn't listening anymore. 

She locked eyes with Rio, sucked in a breath at the triumphant light in his gaze. He licked his lips, slowly, in an obscene and predatory motion and she suddenly understood why he'd chosen to ornate his neck with a bird of prey. She stared at his mouth with shivering fascination, her eyes lingering on the wetness of his lips, and it took her a minute to realize that she was running the tip of her tongue over her own lips in a mirroring motion.

Someone changed a few settings on the control panel in her unattended surroundings, and the swirls intensified, bubbles popping everywhere and flushing her cheeks with hot steam, while color-changing lights were now illuminating the water, playfully outlining Rio's cheekbones and giving his face a sometimes cheerful, sometimes scary, expression.

He obscenely stared at her for long minutes, barely paying attention to anyone else and providing minimal crumbs of conversation. In some sort of retaliation she picked the cocktail Annie had brought for her and curled her lips around the straw, deliberately slow, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked the last sips of the drink. The way his jaw dropped was delightfully satisfying.

Beth wasn't exactly sure of how it happened. Nor why. But eventually someone must have suggested that people swap seats so that everyone could experiment the different jets configurations. The only sure thing was that general confusion ensued for a while, notably including a whole minute of Annie obliviously singing a hot-tub adapted version of Donna Summer's _Hot Stuff_ in the middle of the spa. And at some point, Rio ended up sitting next to her.

Their knees brushed under the bubbly fog of the ever moving water, and in an accidental move, Beth's hand involuntarily landed on Rio's thigh. To be fair she was starting to lack a bit of coordination here. These cocktails were _really_ strong. She was about to immediately withdraw the unfortunate limb when her eyes came across Dylan who was animatedly chatting with Mick. Long-forgotten images popped in her mind and her fingers instinctively squeezed him more instead. Claiming, almost. And sure it was a petty, useless revenge. But somehow she needed this. Although she wasn't _jealous_ , no. Not at all. That would have been ridiculous. She was just... irritated.

Rio's muscle shuddered in response to her touch and she instantly came back to her senses. Right. What was she thinking? Better not leave this hand there for ages. Purposefully avoiding the side glance that she knew he was casting her — God, she could literally _feel_ his eyes on her! — she broke the contact and brought her hand to her face to wipe her damp forehead with a detached expression. She loudly laughed at something Annie had just said, trying to ignore the persistent heat emanating from Rio's body in her immediate surroundings.

He seemed to ignore her after that, looking away and chatting with Mick for a while. Until the moment she startled when she felt his thumb stroking the nape of her neck. From where they were sitting, nobody could see that he was touching her. He was just comfortably leaning against the tub wall, one of his arm spread over the edge and maybe disappearing a little behind her shoulders. But nothing suggested the deliberately slow rub of his fingertip against her upper spine sending bolts of electricity in her whole body.

She briefly rolled her eyes at him but he wasn't paying any attention to her whatsoever. So she allowed herself to melt under the caress for an instant and momentarily forget about all the issues standing in their way. She closed her eyes and let herself revel in the soothing and relaxing motion of the pad of his thumb against her skin. Maybe even leant a little towards him, unconsciously looking for more, craving the touch of his whole hand on her.

"You tried the sauna yet?"

She reopened her eyes, caught his carefully studying her. His murmur would have been inaudible if their faces hadn't been so close already.

He subtly jerked his chin towards the sauna cabin nearby and she blinked, caught off-guard. This was a very, very bad idea. Probably even the worst one of them had ever come up with. But. But his thumb was drawing circles in her neck and his eyes were burning fuming holes of lust in her skin. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, inviting, and she nodded. She clumsily extracted herself from the spa, picked her towel on the floor and wrapped it around her body with shaky hands, hoping that nobody had noticed that she was dipping in her undergarment.

Annie gave her an interrogative look.

"I'm sorry I have to check on the kids," Beth mumbled as an excuse. "And have you seen Dean?" she added, stammering a little.

"Who cares?" Annie shrugged, immediately losing interest in her sister's whereabouts.

Beth walked away from the spa as if it were on fire. In her back, she heard Rio leaving the tub too and she vaguely wondered. On a scale from one to ten, how obvious could they be?

***

Rosa and Chad were chilling in the sauna cabin — and probably much closer to each other an instant before — when Beth pushed the door open, the sweltering heat enveloping her like a suffocating blanket. They raised their heads at her entrance and she stepped inside, unsure of her next move. Turning away at this point would probably have looked weird.

"Get the fuck outta here!" Rio growled behind her, eliciting an immediate reaction from the young couple.

They instantly fled away, carefully closing the glassy door behind them, and Beth suddenly realized that _anyone_ could walk in, or even see them through the door. Fortunately the sauna was facing the wall opposite to the spa, but...

In her back, Rio poured some water over the hot stones, and in the middle of the sizzling noise the heat wave hit her like a train, immediately taking her breath away. She heard him step closer but she didn't turn back, unwilling to meet his eyes. And instant later she felt his breath on the back of her neck and she knew that he was there, so close and yet still not touching her. Nothing happened for a protracted beat before his hands landed on her hips, slipping under the fluffy fabric of the towel to squeeze her flesh.

His hot mouth crashed on her shoulder and she melted against him with a mewling sound, reveling in the steady pressure of his body against hers. His lips built a trail of open mouthed kisses towards her neck and she bent her head backwards, one hand groping over her chest to unknot the towel and yank it away from her body.

One of his hands immediately came up to cup her breast, a motion so similar to the way he'd touched her for the first time ever that she bit her lip not to whimper at the memory. His fingers followed the hem of her bra around her ribcage and he slightly pulled back to unclasp it. She helped him as much as she could, taking the straps off her shoulders and letting the lace fall on the floor, moaning when both his hands came to squeeze and palm her bare breasts while the warm skin of his chest pressed against her back again.

He buried his face in her neck and she raised one hand to scratch at the back of his head, her fingers almost shy against him, as if touching him would make the moment disappear. She tilted her head, chased his mouth, silently but explicitly urging him to kiss her.

He didn't, though. Instead, he instantly pulled away. He pivoted her in his arms and fell down on his knees, his fingers curling around the waistband of her panties and bringing them down with him.

Mesmerized and panting she watched him slowly run his palms up her inner thighs, stopping an inch away from her throbbing core. His thumbs delicately unfolded her, before he languidly wrapped his tongue around her clit, and Beth's earth stopped turning. She had to brace herself against his shoulders as her body violently shuddered, her head jolting backwards, and she felt him smile against her.

And maybe this should have been her first alarm. Things shouldn't have been about her so fast and easily. Not after... everything that had happened. Not with the way he'd acted all night. But there was no going back from where she was now. His tongue started to move, slowly, tracing eight figures or whatever over her clit and eliciting deep, choked moans from her. One of her hand softly cradled the back of his neck, her fingertips dancing against the short hair and his fingers squeezed her thighs in response, almost tenderly.

She was already trembling and gasping when he abruptly interrupted his ministrations and got back on his feet. She mewled in protest but he ignored her, pushing her backwards until he got her where he wanted. Sat on the wooden bench and too far gone to be anything else but compliant. He grabbed her by her knees, spread her legs apart, and she greedily tried to pull his hips closer but he tutted with a severe look.

Eyes locked with her, he ran one hand up her thigh, stroking the soft skin before his palm flattened against her stomach and cupped her breast. Beth sucked in a moan, biting her lips and staring back at him unblinkingly. Because behind the lust dilating his pupils, something else was rumbling in a tormented ebb and flow. Something feral and challenging at the same time, and she wouldn't let her walls crumble for him to stomp on the fuming ruins of her pride. Not yet.

He leaned over her, pushed against her shoulder until her upper back was pressed against the cabin wall. She jolted in reaction to the burning heat of the wooden surface, resulting from hours of exposition to boiling steam, but Rio's large palm stayed there, irremovable, while the fingers of his other hand started working at her cunt. And soon, with ragged breath and little moans, she forgot about the wall.

He pressed one, then two fingers inside of her, his thumb roughly rubbing her clit. His eyes never left her face, scrutinizing every tiny reaction of her, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the tip of her tongue darting from time to time, and she gave back look for look, refusing to close her eyes until the very last moment.

When her body started to shake and she clenched around his fingers, when her eyes fluttered closed, he hissed, revengeful, "This business ain't yours, Elizabeth. Everythin' you own is mine. Even your fuckin' mattress."

His fingers worked harder against her as he spoke, his other hand stroking her breast and forcefully pushing her towards the edge, ripping even the possibility of a protest from her while she hurtled the slope of her orgasm, powerless and endlessly crushed under rolling waves of pleasure, only able to respond to the gauntlet he'd just thrown her with a long, ecstatic moan.

She reopened her eyes to his sarcastic smirk and she saw in his darkened gaze the moment when he decided that he had enough of her attention to slowly slip his fingers out of her, drawing a belated whimper from her throat.

But his swim pants were sticking to his skin, and if the bulge under the wet fabric was anything to go by, his nonchalance wasn't as well-rounded as he displayed. Still looking him in the eyes, she gently pushed him away, got back, unsteady, on wobbly feet and stepped closer until they breathed the same warm and heavy air. She ran a finger against his crotch, feeling him twitch and harden under her touch, watching his pupils blow and his lips part.

He swallowed, and the bird on his neck seemed to flap its wings as his Adam's apple bobbled up and down.

"Sit," she demanded, hissing through her teeth.

Surprisingly he obliged without a protest. The way he looked at her when she climbed on his lap and straddled him, completely naked and braced against his shoulders with her knees resting on both sides of his waist, almost took her breath away. For an instant she forgot her boiling frustration with his smug dickishness, her cold anger at his murderous violence, and they just stared at each other, holding their breaths. He pushed a lock of damp hair behind her ear and her fingers danced over the wet skin of his chest, tracing the lines of his scars, the damages rough under her sensitive fingertips. For an tiny, infinitesimal moment, she felt as if they were the only living souls in the world. Time froze, like a ball thrown up in the air seems to levitate for a brief eternity at the peak of its trajectory before entering its descent.

And then it all came back.

Rage.

Lust.

Resentment.

She desperately grinded against him, her hips rolling impossibly closer while he nipped at her collarbone, his hands all over her, pressing and squeezing, easily sliding on the sheen of sweat covering her body in the suffocating heat of the cabin. She shoved one hand between them, pulling his cock out of his swim pants and giving him a few strokes. A hoarse growl escaped from his throat, and she pressed her lips against the wings of his tattoo, sucked at the burning skin until she heard him growl again, lower and lower. His fingers pressed bruises in her hips and she completely lost her mind, incapable of holding her desire one more second.

The raw, throaty moan they both let out as she slowly let herself sink down on him seemed to resonate in the small room. In an implicit agreement their bodies adjusted to each other for an instant before she started to move against him at an increasingly furious pace while his hips gave back thrust for thrust, fucking her deep and hard.

For long minutes, the slapping of their wet skins and their ragged breaths were the only sounds filling the atmosphere, occasionally completed with a muffled moan. Until she felt his fingers press deeper in her flesh, until the open mouth kisses he left in her neck and on her chest got more passionate, until the general urgency of their encounter turned to frank desperation.

"It's my business! Mine! Say it!" she hissed, riding him faster and cupping his face with her both hands to press their foreheads together.

His mouth twisted, conflicted, and she felt his body tensing beneath her, probably torn between the imminence of his orgasm and the fierce reluctance to give her the satisfaction she craved

"It's _ours_ ," he conceded in a hoarse groan.

"You... me... we... it's just business, isn't it?" she panted, biting her lips to hold the cascade of moans threatening to spill out from her trembling body. 

"Don't push me, Elizabeth."

But she had the upper hand and she knew it. A savage pleasure was building inside of her, something born from triumphant power rather than lust. She fucked him a little longer before his fingers twitched alarmingly in her ass cheeks.

"Slow down, Elizabeth," he warned her, almost threatening.

She bit her lips not to smile this time, as she slipped one finger under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes.

"I'm not here to slow down, honey," she murmured, the endearment shaped as a coup de grace that blew his pupils and drew a little throaty noise out of him.

She watched him unravel beneath her as she rolled her hips even faster, watched him lose control, and it uncoiled something inside of her. She felt his cock twitch, marking the beginning of his orgasm, and the thought that she'd pushed him beyond the point of no return propelled her over her own edge.

Her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave and she collapsed against him, her face crashing in his neck where she buried her moans while he finished spilling inside of her, his hands following the motion of her hips over him. And maybe there was this tiny part of her who wished that she could stay forever in the warm nest of the crook of his neck, her lips pressed against the inked lines of a gracious bird.

But it wasn't how things worked. Never had. Never would. Eventually she straightened up, slowly detached her body from his with a little wince when his softening cock slipped out of her. She saw him smirk, his eyes focused on his come dripping down her thighs, and for some reason his reaction infuriated her. She pursed her lips and delicately wiped her raw, oversensitive skin with a corner of _his_ towel in retaliation.

With a cocky — and maybe slightly provocative — shrug, she ignored her soaked underwear still lying on the floor, only wrapping a towel around herself on her way out.

Just as she was reaching the door, he grabbed her arm and yanked her back in front of him. There was something conflicted in his eyes. Lost. But she didn't get to peer at his expression any longer. He freed her arm and before she knew it he was cupping her face with his both palms, his thumbs pressing her cheekbones, and his lips crashed on hers. She let out a little moan, out of surprise. And maybe out of something else too. Something she was afraid to face and name, something that made her stomach twist with a mix of dread and excitement. Something that made her cross her wrists at the back of his head and open her mouth to his tongue with a gasp, kiss him back as hard as she could.

At some point one of his hands left her face to fumble with the knot she'd made with the towel wrapped around her, and a moment later the fabric fell down on the floor with a dull sound. Rio's hand slid in her middle back and he pulled her tightly against him, skin on skin, while he kept kissing her deeply. Desperately, almost. As if there was something he was trying to tell her that she didn't quite understand. Something filled with regrets.

Want.

Loss.

Forgiveness.

Something she didn't want to see nor acknowledge so she lost herself in the kiss instead, in the mess of their entangled tongues and hungry teeth, in the fervor of their lips meeting with a renewed, all-consuming desire every time. Her nails raked the hot skin at the back of his head and she pressed herself against him, enough to feel his heart beat in his ribcage against her breast, that heart she'd almost put to eternal rest with a round hole shaped as a bullet.

Eventually they parted, both panting and breathing each other's air in the steamy room and he looked at her, licking his lips. His hand still cupping her jaw slowly slid down, his thumb running over her lips and the dimple in her chin before he broke their connection.

***

The cool summer night breeze came as a shock on her overheated skin when she stepped outside the sauna. Her heart was beating fast, and she suddenly realized how moist she was from head to toe. And she was ready to bet that the color of her skin was pretty evocative of an overcooked lobster. She winced. She'd have to wait to be home to shower anyway, she wouldn't go through the embarrassment of asking Mick if she could take a shower at his place. Time to leave. She gathered her clothes, minus her underwear, still piled near the hot-tub and got dressed in a darker corner.

Not that anyone was watching though. The spa was empty, and there was music and laughter coming from the bar where the party seemed to be happening at the moment. Dean was still sleeping by the pool and she sent him a couple of texts, hoping that the buzzing of his phone would be enough to wake him up. She'd rather avoid doing it herself.

Looking for Annie, she suddenly realized with a shiver of horror that the music she'd heard was in fact a karaoke set, and that her sister was in the middle of a terribly out-of-tune duet reprise of _My Heart Will Go On_ with Mick, the two of them swaying with the cheesy beat of the ballad, one arm wrapped around each other's shoulders.

She texted Annie too and decided to go wait downstairs, outside the building. She didn't want to have to talk to anybody right now. And maybe she just wanted to be alone. Preferentially somewhere not including Rio in her immediate surroundings.

She didn't pronounce a word during the ride home but neither Annie or Dean seemed to pay attention to her quiet. Nor did they notice that she was going home commando. This was definitely _not_ how she'd imagined the night would go, and she felt... well, not _confused_ , that might have been a bit strong. But maybe a little wobbly, for sure. And... conflicted. She just didn't know what to think of it, couldn't figure where Rio and her were standing now. What it meant, provided that it meant something to begin with. Everything was so, so _messed-up_ that no matter how hard she desperately tried to bring some sense into it, she couldn't. She wished she could tell herself that it all only had been lust, two people blowing off some steam with the worst mate choice in the world. But it didn't explain the way he'd kissed her, nor the things she'd seen in his eyes and didn't want to think about. It all made her dizzy. Although that last one might be on the drinks.

Back home, she took a long, really long shower. So long that Dean was already asleep by the time she stepped out of the ensuite bathroom. Which was... kind of the point, if she was truly honest with herself. Out of habit she checked her phone before going to bed. The screen was blinking with two unread messages.

She opened the first one, from a private number generally associated to cash drops and meetings instructions.

_Tuesday. Showroom. Closing time._

Except that there was no cash drop scheduled on Tuesday. Business wasn't the reason why he was messaging her this time. She timidly smiled, absent-mindedly ran her fingertips over her lips, still feeling the pressure of Rio's mouth there, the caress of his tongue, the bite of his teeth, and her tongue darted out, reflexively. A wave or arousal ran across her belly like a sharp blade, and she wished he'd asked to meet her right now instead.

Feeling the blush rising on her cheeks, she opened the second message, and a drowning feeling of loss suddenly twisted her stomach. She couldn't believe that she'd actually forgotten about him. She closed her eyes, deeply breathed a couple of times before she read Fitzpatrick's message, her heart pounding with anxiety.

_The target will be taken care of by Tuesday at noon._

She swallowed. With shaky hands, she locked the screen and put her phone down before she slipped into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phewwww, I can't believe it took me almost three months??? To update???
> 
> This chapter is quite heavy though, so trigger warning for: choking, minor violence, puking, extremely awkward situations, and generally a lot of angst.

Some say that sleeping on things helps to solve them.

Well, in Beth's case, it mostly brought headaches and confusion. When she woke up on Sunday morning, the fog of sleep and hangover took a while to dissipate enough for her to remember the events of the past night. She checked her phone, with a vague hope for some nocturnal developments — of any kind, really — but she didn't have any new messages.

She stared for a while at Rio's last text, a literal booty call if she'd ever seen any. And then at Fitzpatrick's. Well. The timing wasn't optimal, but at last things were moving forward. And she had no intention of postponing them further just for the sake of... what? Lust? Sex? Please, she was smarter than that. It was just... too bad.

She gave the two texts one more look before she erased them with a sigh. Better not leave any trace. Of anything.

Only then she joined Dean who was already having breakfast in the kitchen.

"Great party last night, huh?" he asked.

He gnawed at his toast with a goofiness that almost made Beth retch and she averted her gaze.

"Yeah..." she mumbled, pulling at the sides of her robe to instinctively cover her chest.

_Rio's breath in her neck. His hands squeezing her breast. The hot, clammy air wrapped around them._

The flashback hit her unexpectedly and she shook her head. Not now.

"I don't want to count the chicken too soon, but I'm pretty sure we'll see a rise in orders in the next few weeks," Dean proudly continued, oblivious of Beth's apathy.

It took her a second to understand what he was talking about. Right. To him, the night had only meant an interesting business opportunity — adorned with gorgeous furniture — provided you didn't look too closely at the applicants' occupation.

"Cool," she absently replied, feeding him with the barest minimum of conversation.

She would _not_ relive last night through Dean's eyes. No way.

"By the way, where were y—"

To Beth's huge relief, Dean got interrupted by a loud groan coming from the living room, quickly followed by a grumpy monster having morphed into the shape of her sister. Annie was holding her forehead _and_ her back, spectacularly blatant in her hangover and soreness from sleeping on the couch. An old, derelict one, coming straight from Judith's attic — her mother-in-law's smile when she'd offered to help them out with some temporary furniture was _way_ too satisfied given the circumstances.

Annie spending the night wasn't part of the initial plan, but when Dean had left the highway on Annie's exit on their ride home, she'd started babbling some nonsense about not wanting to wake up Ben, oblivious of the fact that Ben was at Nancy's for the night. She'd asked if she could crash on Beth's couch, instead.

And, well. Beth and Dean had exchanged loaded, knowing glances, and silently agreed on bringing her back to the house. Considering her advanced state of drunkenness, it was probably the wisest choice that she had someone to look after her. Preferably not underage.

"Morning," Annie grunted, heading straight to the coffee pot with the lethargic enthusiasm of a zombie facing fresh flesh.

Dean crumpled his face, looking personally offended by his sister-in-law's current state but Beth just lightly shrugged. Until she noticed a glimpse of a red strap under Annie's tee and realized with a disgusted wince that her sister hadn't even peeled off her swimsuit before — presumably — crashing asleep.

"You should take a shower," she gently suggested, "It'll make you feel better."

"Shhh, shhh, why are you so loud?" Annie protested in an excessively noisy whisper, her face scrunched with ostensible discomfort.

But as soon as she got seated, a mug of coffee secured in her hand, Annie pulled out her phone and seemed to forgot about the people around her, mostly absorbed with whatever content she was checking.

Beth and Dean's eyes met, a common concern reflected on their faces. See, Kenny was thirteen now. And what used to be a joke not so long ago — about how they should get prepared for the kids' teenage years and the end of any non-digital communication with them — was slowly turning into a dreadful reality they'd started alluding to more and more often. 

Trying to find what was best, determine the balance between trust and supervision, liberties and limits. The phone in particular — purchase, use, and restrictions — was literally at the core of that discussion.

And... Well, if Annie was embodying Kenny's — or even worse, Jane's! — attitude within a few years, God, wasn't Beth in a hurry to get them one of those!

Still meditating on the image of her babies — didn't it feel like yesterday that they were avidly sucking their life at the tips of her breasts? — soon turning into the grumpy living extensions of a little piece of silicon, Beth took her mug with her to the backyard, eager for some solitude.

She had much more urgent matters to consider.

Last night had been... a lot. And while she had no intention of changing the planned course of events just for the sake of it, she had to admit that the timing could have been better. But it didn't mean that —

"Beth?"

She couldn't catch a breath, could she?

Dean was smiling at her from the backyard doorframe.

"I'm going for some groceries, do you need anything?" he asked, his thumb pointing behind his back approximately in the kitchen direction.

She smiled, lightly, "Just baking soda. I'm running short."

Back to normal life it would be. Soon.

Fitzpatrick's awakening wasn't the kind of news she could keep as a secret, though. Not from her... crew, for lack of a better definition. So later in the afternoon, she dropped the bomb to the girls after Ruby got to hear both Beth and a post-shower, more energetic Annie's versions of the party. _None_ of those including anything about Rio and a sauna. For Annie didn't know, or at least Beth hoped so. And she was most certainly not going to provide information herself.

Beth didn't need their judgment, nor Annie's unavoidable medley of her greatest sexual innuendos. She was already judging herself harshly enough, thank you very much. The more she'd been thinking about it throughout the day the more she... Look, there was something _pathetic_ in the way she didn't seem to be able to pass on any occasion to throw herself at him.

And okay, the sex was good. _He_ was good. And handsome. Probably the most handsome she could ever afford. But. That didn't play out well as an excuse, even less as a counterweight when the other side of the scale was only threats, strong-armed intimidation, and... murder.

Honestly, the fact that she hadn't thought about Lucy — and God, literally everything else! — for even one second when she was in that sauna was disgusting. But — no, there was certainly no acceptable 'but' here.

"It will be done on Tuesday," Beth explained, her voice bereft of even the slightest shakiness.

She'd been prompt to uncap the new carton of baking soda and start some muffin dough while she talked to the girls. The kids would be happy to get home to some treats after having spent the weekend at their grandma's. And she didn't care that she barely had half the utensils she'd normally need for it because Dean seemed to think that buying a new TV was more urgent than refurnishing the kitchenware. She was doing this. 

"And it's... _good_ , right?" Ruby inquired, her eyebrows raised in suspicion.

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" Beth lightly asked, her hands furiously kneading the dough.

Annie snorted.

"What?" Beth barked maybe a little too harsh, anxiety cracking at the edge of her voice.

Annie's reaction couldn't be coincidental. God, she _knew_ that she and Rio's precipitate exit from the spa had been obvious. And if Annie started mentioning it, then Ruby would know and—

"Nothing," Annie shook her head before she vaguely gestured at her phone. "It's just that Ben sent me this funny video..."

"Hey, get out of your phone for a bit," Beth protested, a part of her mind still processing the specter of upcoming teenage years.

Annie shrugged and provocatively typed a reply.

False alarm. If Annie hadn't picked on _that_ occasion to roast her about last night, then she probably ignored what had happened there. Good.

"It's just... sweetie, you're kinda stress baking _hard_ , right now," Ruby explained, pulling a concerned face.

Beth looked at her hands, puzzled for an instant before she gave her friend her best compassionate look, "I mean, someone is still going to die, right?"

"Babe, if you're not sure about that, we can —"

"No, we can't. I haven't paid this guy for nothing, okay?"

She hadn't meant it but as she spoke, her hands attacked the dough so ferociously that the bowl clanged loudly against the wooden counter. Both Annie and Ruby jumped, aghast.

"Geez, chill out, dude!" Annie protested in a vigorous grumble.

Ruby's eyes were still open at an abnormal size literal _minutes_ later. So wide that the white part of her eyeballs showed all around her brown irises.

The buzzing woke her up. Or, something else. Whatever. But when she opened her eyes, her phone was rhythmically vibrating, the screen turned on with the notification of an incoming call. From a blocked number.

She checked her alarm clock. 

2 am. 

A dreadful feeling sunk in her ribcage. This couldn't be a regular call, or at least it didn't fit Rio's usual calling or texting habits. There must have been some kind of emergency, but what? Her mind quickly scanned her printing schedule and books forging progress, wondered if there was anything that could justify a call in the middle of the night. But... even something about the feds could wait until morning.

Or maybe — her heart stopped beating for an instant. Maybe he'd found out about Fitzpatrick. In which case she was a dead woman walking. But it didn't sound like him to call. Dramatic as he was, he'd probably rather show up on such an occasion.

The phone stopped buzzing, the screen went dark and she breathed, deeply. Maybe it could wait after all, whatever it was. Dean was peacefully snoring by her side, and she slowly laid back in bed, closed her eyes, and —

_Bzzzzzzzz_

Again.

Well, this time she'd better pick up. She slipped out of bed as silently and quickly as possible and took the phone with her to the living room.

"Yo," she heard as soon as she accepted the call, "You sleepin' or what?"

There was some frustrated irritation in his tone but also an edge of something else she couldn't place. And just... who the hell did he think he was?

"I was," she scowled, for as much as one can be severe when they're whispering.

He chuckled. Mumbled indistinctly for a while.

"What do you want?" she tried to refocus, burning with the itch to just hang up and go back to bed, leaving the phone right there for it to ring alone for the rest of the night.

"Nothing. Been thinkin' about you," he drawled.

It hit her, suddenly. The slightly off edge in his voice. His slower elocution.

"Are you drunk?" she asked, wishing that a tone could convey the same level of exasperation an eye roll did.

"Maybe..." he must have sensed her disbelief because he almost immediately conceded, "Lil bit."

Her breath caught. A little.

"And?" she asked, almost inaudible.

"Was rememberin' fucking you last night," he dreamily said with something ferocious, and wild, in his undertone, and she wished she could press her thighs together harder, until they would melt into one single limb. "Wanted to touch you," he added in a purr.

And God, why did he have to _talk_? Why did he even have a voice at all?

" _Now?_ " she asked, appalled. And frankly... not completely opposed to the suggestion.

"Nah... Got some shit to attend right now."

"Oh."

Her sigh had equally to do with sheer relief and languid disappointment. 

"Shit, Mick's comin' back. Look. I'll see you real soon, Elizabeth."

And just like that, he hung up. On her, and her aborted expectations. She stood still for a couple seconds, still recovering from... whatever _that_ was.

The thought that she'd spent the day convincing herself that he deserved to die while he'd been thinking about... her. Them. _That_. Well, thanks to him, now she had images stuck in her mind, the kind she'd tried to avoid all day. She felt herself slightly faltering in her resolution. Like an automat, she tiptoed to the ensuite bathroom, splashed some water on her face before she went back to bed.

To find Dean awake.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice heavy with sleep.

"I just... I thought I'd heard some noise in the backyard," she replied, synchronizing her lie with a perfectly timed yawn.

He grumbled, passed a hand over her shape, out of habit, before he... Well, maybe this was her fault. Maybe she was still turned on from Rio's phone call, and perhaps her hips had bucked a little or something. Or maybe it was just horridly coincidental.

But all of a sudden Dean was all pressed against her back, with his mouth in her neck and a hand at her hip.

"Well, since we're both up..." he muttered in between kisses he was dropping next to her ear.

She... _considered_ the idea. Considered closing her eyes and chasing a release induced by somebody else, Lord, even _thinking_ of somebody else.

But.

No.

Deep down she'd know. And the problem wasn't about throwing comparisons on the table — she'd computed these _way_ before Rio had ever laid a hand on her — but about how miserable she would feel after. That _he_ wouldn't be here. That _she_ couldn't stop herself from thinking about it, whatever _it_ was.

Behind her, Dean was pursuing his humping approach and it annoyed her.

"I can't. It's... that time of the month," she softly said, almost apologetic in her effortless way out.

" _Again?_ "

She hated the disbelieving protest in his voice.

"Well these are not linear, Dean, grow up! Maybe it's pre-menopause or something..."

At least he pulled away from her. She heard him settle back on his pillow, muffle a yawn.

"Well, then, maybe you could —"

"No!"

Unbelievable. If he wanted an orgasm so much, why didn't he just jerk off, huh? She didn't _owe_ him anything, for God's sake.

He grumbled like a grounded kid who'd have been denied their favorite video games. Breathed loudly through his nose.

Eventually said, "Thought you said we were in a better place."

Which — might have sounded like her. But wasn't an excuse, and she was in no mood to start a circus of negotiations.

"A better place? That's how you call Gayle's pants?" she threw back, hoping it would mortify him enough to just cut this short without further ado.

Could he just leave her alone to her dimming fantasies already?

"Like you think I didn't see how _he_ looked at you last night?"

And _oh_. That was new. And frankly preposterous.

"You're being ridiculous," she scowled.

What did he know after all, he was asleep the whole time. Honestly, she was this close to retort to Dean that _this_ at least would no longer be a problem by Tuesday.

And... and then what? Was her life supposed to look like this? For — ever? Just... _memories_ to keep her warm? And only Dean — Dean! — to impersonate them?

It didn't feel like shocking news that she carried a great sense of self-sacrifice. But this was... a lot, even for her. She had _boundaries_. And this future she was merrily carving for herself in a coffin of mediocrity sounded... boring. Beyond reasonable.

A whispering memory of Rio's purr over the phone snaked along her spine, making her shiver with thrilled anticipation.

She sighed.

When had life become such a complicated bitch?

***

She may or may not have had _dreams_. Weird, somehow erotically loaded ones. Or at least she woke up with the glutinous mental _sensation_ of them. Well, that was what she got for falling asleep all warmed up.

But it wasn't something worth dwelling upon. It... it didn't change anything, God, she wasn't one of those hippies who'd make sudden life-changing decisions over a goddamn dream. She didn't believe in signs. What had happened at the party, and the... the aftermath of it, well it meant nothing. It wasn't the symptom of a shift of some sort between Rio and her. Or at least she was trying really hard not to indulge into the deceitful belief that it could be.

So far, Fitzpatrick was still the best and only solution she'd found to solve her problem and she intended to stick with it.

But.

But the way he'd kissed her after they'd... The strange expression in his eyes. His text, later in the night. His drunk call last night, she...

Never mind.

Dean had already left to bring the kids at school and run some random errands of his own, leaving her alone to finish her coffee before starting her own workday. Not totally alone actually, since Annie — who seemingly had taken permanent residence in the house — was presumably still around, although nowhere in sight.

But the low, raspy throat clearing she heard in her back while she was rinsing her mug in the sink wasn't her sister's. Unless something very wrong and very sudden had happened to her. She froze. Slowly pivoted, keeping her hands visible, just in case.

She couldn't repress her sigh of relief at the sight of Mick, although his ironic smirk should perhaps have alarmed her.

"Got a special delivery for ya," he grunted before he raised a brow at her in a weird fashion as he dropped a brown rigid envelope on the kitchen counter.

Whether the fact that the package didn't have any illegible doodle mimicking actual letters scribbled on it was a disappointment or a relief, she couldn't tell.

Keeping Mick's silhouette in a corner of her visual range, just in case he'd pull out a gun, Beth stretched a hand, cautiously picked the envelope, vaguely wondered if that was a new trap for fingerprints or something. Well if anything shady was inside, she just wouldn't touch it. It was as simple as —

The blush spread _deep_.

At the bottom of the envelope were her bra and panties she'd left inside Mick's sauna. And judging from the mix of teasing sassiness and judgmental outrage in his expression, he knew about it. And probably about other, related things too.

"Forgot these at my place," he added, with a deadpan laconism that would have been hilarious if it wasn't tragically embarrassing.

"I... am aware of that," she mumbled precipitately.

The silence was _suffocating_. She cleared her throat, just to make some noise.

"It's important to me that my guests have a good time at my parties," he stated, imperturbably. 

God, could he just stop talking?

"I'll be happy to send you feedback," she neutrally replied with her most professional voice.

A toilet flushed in the distance, quickly followed by incoming footsteps.

"Hey can I borrow you some toilet paper?" Annie entered the kitchen, waving at Beth with a roll stuck in her hand. She paused when she caught sight of Mick and considered him, unimpressed. "Oh, hi!" she cheered.

"Hey, ya," he replied with affable fondness.

Beth blinked. Snapped back to reality.

"What? No! Annie, you've got to start buying your own stuff!" she said, processing one issue at a time and starting with maybe the easiest one.

"Yeah Imma leave now," Mick interjected, "Still up for tonight?"

"What is happening toni—" Beth started before she realized.

He wasn't talking to her.

"You bet I am!" Annie exclaimed with genuine excitement.

And just... what?

"Kay. Seven thirty. Pick you up here?"

"Sure." Eventually Annie seemed to remember that this wasn't _her_ house. "It's cool if I stay here all day, right?" she asked Beth, her face devoid of any kind of sheepishness.

Beth rolled her eyes, "Don't you have like a _son_ to take care of?"

"Relax, he's at Nance's!" — well, funny that she remembered that _now_ — "And I don't even have TP at my place, remember?"

Beth vaguely waved her hand, somehow conveying a jaded agreement. Whatever. Mick mumbled something on his way out and it took Beth all she had to wait until she'd heard the front door — at least _he_ used the front door! — closing behind him.

"What the hell?"

For some random reason Annie chose to play innocent, although it was hard to picture in what universe such a stratagem could work.

"Could you be more specific?"

Beth's hands naturally fell on her hips, her frown severer by the minute.

"Since when are you going on _dates_ with criminals?" she icily asked.

"Ew, gross, it's not a date!" Annie loudly protested, "It's karaoke night. Rosa and Chad will be there too!"

As if it made the whole thing more acceptable. Beth thought hard, carefully selected the sourest words she could think of, but she didn't have the time to actually roll them off her tongue.

"So you got your thong back?" Annie sharply deflected the conversation.

The question caught Beth off-guard. It _wasn't_ a thong, and Annie had actually seen this thing. Although... it probably wasn't the main concern here.

"You _knew?_ " She squinted. But then she reconsidered the situation. Absorbed the idea that there had been karaoke-planning and God-knew-what in between. "Mick told you."

A blank statement, at this point.

"We've been... texting. A lot," Annie admitted, looking vaguely ashamed of herself.

Well, at least that explained the obnoxious amount of time she'd spent on her phone.

"How can you..." Beth started, unsure of where she was going with this, "How can you hang out with this guy? After what he did to Lucy? To us?"

Annie crossed her arms, furrowed her eyebrows in what she probably thought was a defying fashion.

"Well how can you get in homeboy's pants when you're vicariously murdering him tomorrow, huh?" she retorted.

Maybe Beth shouldn't have engaged on that slippery path, after all. But also. Annie's phrasing felt like a gut punch. Made the whole thing more real, suddenly. She was _already_ a murderer, at least in thoughts if not in actions. She busied her hands into clearing the breakfast dishes, found herself a pretext to not have to look Annie in the eyes.

"It wasn't... like that," she mumbled, the blush already spreading over her cheeks.

"What was it like then?" Annie retorted with a daring wave of her eyebrows. Beth opened her mouth to answer but Annie raised one hand and loudly tutted, "No, let me tell you something. Actually I'm glad you brought Lucy up. Because it's the first thing Mick and I talked about. Wait," — she frowned — "No, actually the first thing we discussed was that Johnny guy he's seeing, and it's complicated, but that's not the point. He's just making money! Trying to make his own dreams come true."

"Getting a second hot-tub?" Beth snorted as she dropped a plate in the sink with a loud clang.

"Start his own indie label. Or a micro-brewery. He... wasn't super clear. But my point is, it wasn't personal. He's actually a pretty sensitive guy, did you know that he donated a thousand box to the fundraising Max started to help paying for Lucy's niece's tuition?"

"It's not an excuse for what he did," Beth scowled, aggressively wiping the breakfast table with a wet sponge.

"It's not," Annie conceded, munching at some cereals she was directly picking from the box, to Beth's _massive_ exasperation — hadn't she taught her anything about crockery? And breakfast hours? "But from where he's standing, he was just following his boss's orders and doing his job. Just like we do."

As if to prove her point, she chewed a handful of flakes with a noisy crunch and Beth glared at her.

"We are not killing people for a living!"

"Aren't we?"

There was a beat. A throbbing, aching one. A new light was flickering in Annie's eyes, one that Beth had never seen before. Something lingering in her gaze that carefully weighted her, assessed the good and the bad before putting her on the other side, with what looked like disappointment in the way the corners of her mouth lowered.

"Lecture me all you like about hanging out with criminals, Beth. But you know what? You're not any better than them. And at least I'm not boning anyone!"

Something shut down in Beth's mind. She could _not_ deal with that now.

"I have to go," she muttered precipitately.

She might burst into tears if she stayed there any longer. Or just burst.

Annie had _no_ idea of what she was talking about, or how hard everything was, Beth fulminated on her way to the Paper Porcupine. Her sister was wrong. She wasn't like them. She wasn't.

She wasn't.

She...

Well, she might have grown a few techniques, crossed a couple of moral boundaries. Granted. She'd even envisioned the possibility of taking someone's life, multiple times. But hey, they were the ones who'd started it, with their dramatic gun shows, and perpetual threats, and perverse power games.

It didn't make of her a... a _bad_ person. She was a good person, trying to make the best of a bad situation, that was it. Her soul wasn't rotten.

And if she may have happened to like it a little too much, it was only because she was actually good at it, because it had made her feel competent.

Recognized.

Wanted.

_You're not any better than them_

The echo of Annie's words swirled in her mind for the whole day. 

Accusatory, when she checked the printers at the gift cards shop and set up everything for an upcoming night of illicit printing. Dismayed, when, back to Boland Bubbles, she handed Eric a forged property developer's order for fifteen spas with a bright smile. Crushing, when she locked herself in the ladies' room to conceal with some foundation a bruise Rio had left on her collarbone, the mark so deep it was still visible two days later.

_Been thinkin' about you_

She thought she was going insane. For what felt like the first time in her life, she was left with only two options, and both felt equally ghastly.

Was it really who she had become?

She absorbed herself in work and waited until past seven to get home, unwilling to talk to Annie. Tried not to think too hard about it. Hid her turmoil under a placated smile during family dinner, the folding table bought online as a cheap and quick replacement looking oddly small, isolated almost, in the immensity of the dining room. Asked about everyone's day with practiced affability.

The mood was weird anyway. With the kids spending half of their time at Judith's — Beth and Dean had agreed that the constant emptiness of the house might depress them — it felt as if some threads were broken. Out of tone. As if this temporary living arrangement had made them less of a family.

At least this one was a problem she could focus on.

She stayed up until long after Dean had gone to sleep, pretending she had some more work to do but drinking her anticipated guilt to the bottom instead.

It wasn't that Rio meant more to her than the strictness of the facts. He. Didn't. What they had was just an annoyingly perfect sexual compatibility doubled with a professional relationship based on threat. Nothing to weep about here. And despite the appeal of his absolutely indecent proposition, well... calling things off was by no mean a smart choice.

But...

Her gaze drifted to the kitchen window, distinguished the shape of the picnic table hidden in the darkness outside, reluctantly looked away as she let go of the memory.

_You're not any better than them_

They were all wrong. She was better than them.

She was.

Having Rio killed wasn't something that would print a permanent, evil seal on her forehead. Because doing a bad thing to a bad person, it... those things canceled each other out, right? It had to be _good_. Or at least neutral. Unless it just squared the bad.

Math had never been her strong subject.

And it took her several more bourbons but eventually she dialed Fitzpatrick's number. He didn't pick up — which was understandable at 2 am — but after an internal debate about degrees of incrimination, she left him a voicemail. Without anything compromising, though. But the cancellation order was clear. She doubled it with a text, just to be sure.

That would probably do the trick. She blinked, immediately after. Hadn't she acted out of sheer panic, though? Got cold feet on the ground of moral ethics she'd stopped abiding by long ago? Or worst, depraved lust?

She dutifully finished her drink, thoughtful. Unsure that there actually was one decision better than the other. Wondered what would be the girls' opinion on that matter. Shook her head. She was just so _tired_ , of everything.

Whatever the answer was, it would be tomorrow Beth's problem.

***

She woke up on Tuesday with a vague sense of dread pooling inside of her, as if she'd emerged from a half-forgotten bad dream, the doom lingering over her mind like a persistent shadow, a tell-tale of a storm.

She checked her phone, fueled with a sudden recollection. No news from Fitzpatrick. But maybe this was normal. After all, she wasn't wildly familiar with the... the conventions in effect. Was he supposed to get back in touch with her? Disappear in the shadows of the unknown?

He couldn't have missed her texts and calls, though.

She clung to this certitude all morning, trying to focus on work, although her mind would often drift from Boland Bubbles books, the feeling of dread growing as the clock hands danced their hypnotic ballet towards the fatidic hour.

Her most notable distraction came around half-past ten, when Annie sent her a picture of she and Mick apparently singing _A Kiss From A Rose_ together, with Rosa and Chad's faces cracking up with laughter in the background. She sighed. Annie befriending Mick was an unexpected problem worth meditating on. Especially given the current uncertainty of anything regarding Rio, and whether he... and if...

He'd said closing time, right?

By noon she was a ball of impatient anxiety mixed with aroused anticipation.

11:59 am.

Noon.

Still nothing. She sighed, vaguely relieved. She didn't know what she'd been expecting, though. She had no intention of engaging with Annie's nonsensical beliefs, dogs weirdly staring at her or any silliness of the kind. Pets weren't allowed in the showroom anyway, mostly because clearing the spas from dog's hair was _horrendous_.

Her phone buzzed, waking Beth up from her divagations.

_I have the regret to inform you that your contract's policy doesn't allow last-minute cancellation._

Beth, blinked, stupid.

Suddenly an icy feeling poured over her, soaked her clothes, drenched her skin, and froze her organs. Her vision tunneled, her ears rang and the phone dropped on the desk from her open hand. She stared in front of her, slightly shaking, incapable of just... thinking. For what felt like an eternity.

The first rise of nausea crashed against her like a tidal wave, inescapable. She rushed out of her office towards the bathroom with her palm tightly clutching her mouth, scarcely able to gesture back with a vaguely reassuring motion at Daisy's concerned, "Everything okay, Mrs. Boland?" as she ran past the reception desk.

She barely made it to the toilet, her stomach manifesting its intention to secede from the rest of her body with fierce and desperate energy. She threw up until she felt like she was entirely made of bile, until her body convulsed around nothing and droplets of sweat traced wet paths down her cheeks, mixing with her mascara tinted tears.

Somehow there was a monumental irony in the fact that she was gifted with what she'd been consistently calling for for so long right when she no longer wanted it. This was supposed to solve everything, and yet she felt like she'd ruined it.

How come winning felt so much like losing?

She faced the bathroom mirror, trembling. Splashed some cold water on her pallid face. Wondered if he'd seen it coming. If he'd had the time to understand what was happening to him or if he'd just... poof. 

She adjusted her make-up, asking her reflection if he'd known who it had come from. If he'd thought about— no, had he been given the chance to nurse a last thought, it would have been about his son, just like she would... God, don't think about his son. She gripped the edge of the basin so hard her knuckles turned white.

She skipped lunch, obviously.

The afternoon felt like a dream, the kind she would barely remember, or only through vague flashes bereft of any comprehensible meaning. Her brain had just... stopped working, frozen in a daze she couldn't see herself coming back from. Not before a while, at least.

"Good night, Mrs. Boland," She raised her eyes at Eric, shortly nodded. "Do you want me to close the front door?"

"I'll do it. You can go home," she replied with a weak smile.

Eric was always the last one to leave.

"If I may..." Eric nervously started, "Are you okay Mrs. Boland? You seem like you've seen a ghost."

She shook her head, gathered the remains of her charming housewife facade, "I'm fine. Just a little tired, I guess."

If he doubted her, he didn't display it on his way out.

The showroom was dark, except for the light coming from the street and the dim glow of her own office lamp.

Closing time. This was the moment when Rio was supposed to... hadn't he... She let out a frustrated whine. Irrationally she'd clung all day to this absurd hope that maybe he'd be there, still. 

Because he always came back.

Except that this time she knew he wouldn't. Fitzpatrick was a _professional_ , he... didn't leave people half-dead and bleeding on the floor, hoping for the best.

She stayed for maybe thirty minutes like this, waiting in the semi-darkness. Hoping for a miracle. Unable to go home anyway. She needed some time to recompose a normal face, otherwise even Dean would know something was wrong. Which said a lot.

A door clicked at some point. Incoming footsteps reverberated in the wide showroom. She caught a glimpse of a tall silhouette she'd have recognized anywhere — that she tended to _see_ everywhere, actually. She didn't startle, only half-surprised. After all, she'd seen him popping back from the dead so many times, or maybe just once, but... she got used to it.

It all fell on her at the same time.

Exhaustion.

Relief.

Terror.

She didn't have the time nor the energy to question the how's of his presence. She had more urgent matters to debate. Like the fact that in the mourning fantasy she'd nurtured throughout the day, she'd forgotten that if Rio was still alive she might as well switch her own status to already dead.

"Thought I'd find you celebratin'..."

Something uncoiled inside of her chest, and hadn't she had such a practiced control over herself, she would have cried. She raised her eyes, caught the dark expression on his face, and wondered if there was still a chance for this to only be a _massive_ misunderstanding. She opted for confused doe eyes.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

His gaze turned to frankly homicidal and her last shadow of a doubt vanished. He _knew_. And her little innocence show had probably made it worse. He ran his tongue over his teeth, his lips artificially jutting from the motion.

She waited for the strike, silently.

"Thing is, you never watch your back," he eventually said, considering. Affable, almost, like he was advising her with some great piece of knowledge. "Next time you hire a hitman, make sure you can afford the extra cost."

She slowly stood up from her chair, eager to confront him on a vaguely equal level.

"What's the extra cost?" she asked, cautious and avid to learn.

For the next time, her mind echoed, although she promptly shut it up.

"Loyalty."

She narrowed her eyes, "You paid him."

He chuckled. A dark, sinister sound erupting from his throat.

"Yeah, last time I checked, money solves a thing or two. See you can't beat me at my own game, Elizabeth. I'm the one who taught you everythin' you know."

"Well, then you're a crappy teacher!"

The words had escaped from her lips before she could hold them back, and they seemed to be the sparkle that ignited Rio's fury. He was on her in one step, pushed her backward, harshly, his fingers firmly wrapped around her throat, and before she knew it he had her pinned against the nearest wall and already gasping for air. It all had happened so fast she hadn't even had time to _think_ about struggling back.

"What the fuck, Elizabeth?" he growled.

The wave of panic hit her hard, and she desperately tried to poke at his face with her fingers. He immediately grabbed her wrists in his free hand, carelessly, her struggle made helpless.

"I don't want to work for you!" she protested, her voice hoarse and panicked, probably seconds away from coughing. 

The pressure around her neck slightly loosened although his fingers were still digging deep in the flesh, his grasp around her wrists tight and painful.

He joylessly snorted, "For me, with me, against me, on top of me… I let you try 'em all, yeah?"

Honestly she would have spit at his face in normal circumstances. Ones that didn't make her fear for her own life. He'd never scared her like this, never had looked at her with so much rageous hatred in his eyes without even the smallest crumb of amused curiosity.

But she wouldn't let him intimidate her, not after everything she'd gone through. So she stood for herself despite the terror clouding her mind. It had worked before after all, hadn't it?

"This is not funny," she panted. "You have no idea of the sacrifices I made for all of this!"

"Yeah? Wanna talk 'bout sacrifice?" he immediately threw back, his jaw furiously rocking, "Marcus couldn't sleep for _months_ because of you!" 

She sucked in a shocked breath.

He let a beat pass before he added, low and threatening, "But you already knew that, right? Rhea told you when you were fuckin' around and pretending to care."

She swallowed. Searched his face for the faintest trace of indulgence and found none. She cleared her throat.

"That's a low one. Even for you," she muttered.

"Tell me, Elizabeth... what did you do this time, when you heard the good news, huh? You danced? Toasted? Got off?"

A scary, quite insane light danced in his gaze, his expression almost gentle, just like he'd acted in that bar back then when he was... _supposed_ to kill her. And seeing him so blatantly playing with his prey before what could only be a fatal ending enraged her. This was so unfair.

"Leave me alone!" she screamed, using his momentary psychotic distraction to yank her wrists out of his grip and wrap her hands around the one he still had around her neck, trying to get him off her.

The struggle was as short as vain. He responded with immediate and inescapable brutality, blocking her with his whole body and re-capturing her wrists, this time pinning them above her head before he squeezed her throat with renewed energy, so hard that she involuntarily squeaked.

"Fine, you want to know what I did? I threw up," she spat with all the disgusted contempt she could find in her faltering self, "Happy?"

He didn't say anything. Just slightly eased the pressure around her neck, making sure she could still breathe. For now.

"I… I swear I tried to call it off!" she almost pleaded, because fuck, it _was_ the truth. Maybe this whole hit plan had been a mistake — was it, though? — but at least she'd tried to clean up the mess, hadn't it been for Fitzpatrick's stubborn, tiny-fonted clauses. "I asked him to cancel but he never texted me back."

Rio... nodded, unsurprised. Approving, even. As if she was just feeding the conversation with pieces of common knowledge.

"Cause I asked him not to."

For just an instant the panic ebbed, and she forgot that she was about to have her life taken. Until then she'd just assumed that Rio had somehow managed to catch Fitzpatrick in the act and paid him to pretend he'd actually done the job, but this...

"You _knew_? And yet you..."

What? Flirted with her? Fucked her? Drunk called her? None of it she would ever say out loud, even if someone paid her for it.

"Oh I knew there was someone, darlin'..." he started, his face so close that she could feel his breath across her face. "Should have known it was you!"

There was a silence. And again, this horrid feeling that she'd unknowingly ruined something.

"What were you gonna do after?"

A murmur, so low that she almost missed it, her eyes lost somewhere in the contemplation of her socks in a desperate attempt to avoid even the proximity of him. She remained silent. Mostly because she had no answer to his question.

"See that's your problem you never think things thru. What you think was gonna happen, huh? How long before my boys come for you? How long before you can't sleep cause you feel Mick's shadow everywhere but you just don't know when it will hit you? You sure this is what you want?"

Once more, she didn't reply. A lifeless ragdoll waiting for her fate, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. His fingers twitched against her throat, commanding her to raise her head and look at him. He tilted his head and for one excruciating second — oh no, no, no, no... — she thought that he was about to kiss her. But his lips just went past her face, his stubble softly grazing her cheek, and she closed her eyes.

"How long before you try again?" he whispered in her ear, and she sucked in a gasp at the feeling of him, so close.

And, well. It wasn't like she hadn't _already_ considered a back-up plan to her back-up plan. Wondered about how to get in touch with other, perhaps a little less bureaucratic... _people_. Because her goal remained unchanged, as did the nuisance Rio embodied in that particular picture. He probably inferred what he wanted to know from her silence because his face suddenly pulled back, and she hated herself for instantly missing his warmth.

"Right," he purred, low. "I should probably solve this question myself, then."

She opened her eyes on the silent apology in his own as his fingers started pressing harder. Panic and adrenaline flooded her body the second she read her end on his face.

"Rio..." she started, absolutely clueless for what to say next.

His pupils briefly blew in surprise before his mask slipped back on, and she realized. Sure, her choice of such a moment for a first time at saying his name was probably questionable. Although not premeditated. But he probably interpreted it as so because his face crumpled with fury.

"What gonna be your excuse this time, huh?" his grip around her neck tightened and white sparkling dots filled her vision. "You gonna tell me you got knocked-up again? That why you got sick?"

But his voice was already echoing in her ears as she gasped for air. She wasn't exactly _suffocating_ , not yet at least, but this, right then, was too much to handle. Suddenly every organ in her body felt heavy as lead, tightened. Her knees buckled under her weight and her empty stomach churned, bile rising again in her throat.

He probably felt her starting to slide down the wall because his fingers ungently twitched around her throat.

"Cut the crap, Elizabeth!" he angrily barked.

Her eyes fluttered, everything growingly distant, her vision tunneling into something getting darker every instant.

"No, I... I think I'm fainting for real," she stammered in one last warning.

"Bullshit!"

And, well. He _never_ listened to her, she thought before her vision went completely dark and something hit her shoulder — the floor, she distantly registered.

_The sailboat was facing the wind, slightly heeling to starboard and she ran across the deck to untie the sail's tense rope._

_Splash!_

_A wave higher than the others hit her and she jolted under the sensation of cold water on her face._

Beth blinked, slowly emerging and confusingly catching up with the essential wh-questions of the moment. Oh right. She'd fainted. It couldn't have been for more than a couple of minutes, though, maybe even thirty seconds. Half-crouched and still holding the transparent plastic cup from the watercooler he'd used to wake her up, Rio was observing her, a strange expression on his face. Attentive. Suspicious, maybe. She would have sighed, if she'd had the energy for this. God, did he... did he think she'd _faked_ this?

"You okay?" he eventually asked, his tone bereft of any trace of concern.

She didn't reply immediately. Instead, she flattened her palms on the floor tiles, pressed on them to give herself enough leverage to straighten up and sit, her head dizzy, nausea still clutching hard around her stomach. She took several deep breaths, trying to slow down the frantic beating of her heart.

She was probably much paler than her usual because a tiny light of understanding eventually flickered in Rio's gaze. He offered her the still half-full cup and she accepted it, grateful, downing its content in one gulp.

"It's probably just low blood pressure. I haven't eaten much," she mumbled, almost apologetic.

Did that matter anyway, like, at all? He'd just been about to _kill_ her. Which would have been way worse for her blood pressure, or any of her vital signs.

"Well that's too bad," he started, low, and she looked at him, surprised with his sudden empathy. "Cause I'd been plannin' to take you out but I think I'd rather go with someone who hasn't tried to kill me twice!"

He dropped the last words with feral rage, and such disappointed contempt in his eyes that it hurt. So much for expecting sympathy.

He didn't even wait to see the damage he'd caused with his angry confession of what could have been. He just got back on his feet and turned away, leaving her to her trembling chin, the hurt inside of her broadening around the initial blow like a bloodstain over a bullet wound.

But he wouldn't get away with this. Wouldn't get rid of her so easy. Fiercely trying to swallow her sobs back, she somehow found the strength to raise her head, ignored the giddiness.

"Seriously, what did you expect?"

She didn't even recognize her own voice, angry, cracking with sobs and wrapped in unfairness. He stopped dead in his dramatic stride, faced the opposite wall for an instant before he slowly pivoted, an undecipherable mask on his face.

"What?"

She got back on her feet, still a little wobbly from the faint but steadily coaxed in her resolution, and she closed the distance between them in a few, slightly faltering steps. He kept his eyes on her the whole time, silently waiting for what she had to say.

"I have a family," she started in a low, raw voice, "I have a sister. I have a best friend."

He opened his mouth, probably to retort something about him having a family of his own or some crap but she raised a preventing hand with a reprobating tut. She wasn't done yet.

"I spent most of my life hanging to the hook of someone who eventually brought me to bankruptcy. Among other things," she added after an instant. "When I robbed that grocery store, I did it for _me_. And for them. I did it because I didn't want to depend on anyone."

Her voice was growing steadier as she talked, and even if she was sobbing a little, even with tears rolling down her cheeks, she felt stronger somehow. It felt good. Empowering. To remember why she was doing all of this.

Rio was peering at her with attention. She could tell from the way his chest was abruptly raising and falling that he was dying to speak, maybe to confront her. But she didn't let him. This time, he'd have to listen to her until she'd have said what she had to say.

"And then you... You kept threatening me, you constantly implied that you could just cut me off whenever you wanted and..." — she took a deep breath — "I didn't get rid of a hook to be at the mercy of another one!"

She took one step closer, her chest almost touching his.

"I found a way to craft and print the money. And I worked _hard_ for it. _I_ printed it. _I_ washed it. _I_ bought this place with it. And you think I'm going to let you worm your way into a bigger cut and rob it from me again? Keep me in the fear? Threaten to take me down if I don't comply with what you want? I'll tell you what, I'd rather burn this place to the ground than let you have it!"

She spat the last words with a desperate rage, her voice dripping with bitter contempt.

There. She'd said it. She'd reach that point of no return where she'd played the last card in her game. Whatever would come next, it would be his move. She realized that she was panting without having even noticed that her breath had accelerated during her furious diatribe.

He'd been peering at her the whole time, his teeth absent-mindedly grazing his bottom lip, until he eventually seemed to come to a decision.

"Okay," he said in a breath.

His hand slowly reached for his gun at the back of his waistband and Beth's breath suddenly broke. Maybe she'd been right all along. Maybe what had happened in the sauna hadn't meant anything to him. Maybe he was just going to murder her right there, finish what he'd started a few minutes earlier. 

"I guess it's you or me, then," he added.

He armed the gun before unceremoniously handing it to her. Not that this had _ever_ proved itself to be a smart move from him. With a wince, she shook her head, stepped back. Not that again. She wouldn't let him trick her in whatever dumb reaction he expected from her. Not to even mention actually _using_ the gun.

He popped a curious brow.

"Nuh?"

Her chin started trembling again and she hated to display such an obvious emotional response. Not after the horrible day she'd spent. Not after she'd let him see how physically _weak_ the inconsistency of his aliveness had left her.

"Then I guess it's gotta be me," he hissed, venomous.

He closed the distance between them in one step and grabbed the back of her head with one hand, pressed the gun barrel under her jaw with the other.

"Fifty percent."

Something suddenly relaxed inside of her. Although she'd been about to drown under the weight of her own regrets the minute before, Rio's repeated attempts at breaking her, pushing her head deeper underwater, they had somehow produced a completely opposite effect. 

Now she wanted to fight. She'd meant it. She wouldn't let him take away what was hers. Even if it meant that she'd pay for it with her life. A last possibility she was starting to highly doubt. If it was meant to happen, it should have been done already.

She stared deeply in his eyes, forgetting her weakness, her wet cheeks, and she slowly wrapped her fingers around his hand that held the gun. The faintest hint of a gasp escaped his lips when her tiny palm squeezed his too large hand, clutched it almost, as if searching for steadiness.

"Ten."

If he wanted to drag her into some strong-armed negotiation, then he'd get what he'd asked for. With interests.

"Thirty."

Somehow he'd managed to come even closer, his lower lip hanging just above her mouth like a forbidden, ripe fruit. Eyes still locked with him, she swallowed.

"Fifteen. That's my final offer."

He could have asked, "or what?" He could have dared her to kill him once again. Fuck, he could have pulled the trigger. But instead he just tightened his grip around the back of her neck. Not in a painful way, though.

"Twenty."

She inhaled. She'd already got him to lower his demand more than she'd thought she could. Maybe she should settle for this. She closed her eyes, took one, then two deep breaths.

"I'll give you twenty percent," she slowly started, re-opening her eyes, "If you stop threatening me. For real. No more scary shows, and no more guns pointed at me. Ever."

He silently stared at her for a protracted beat. Lowered his eyes on his thoughts. Swallowed, setting the wings of the bird in a troubling motion.

"Okay," he let out in a breath. "But the instant you paint a target in my back again you get a bullet in your pretty head, you hear me?"

He leaned in even closer, pressed his forehead against hers, and her eyes fell shut. God, his mouth was _painfully_ close.

"I don't wanna kill you, Elizabeth, I don't," he whispered against her lips with something urgent and desperate in his tone. "But I promise you I will if you ever mess up again."

She let out a sobbing sigh, held back her tears behind the curtain of her shut eyelids.

"It's not... personal," she muttered between short intakes of breath, "I just want to be free."

He let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a moan as he exhaled deeply, and something seemed to unwind in the heavy atmosphere.

For an instant, neither of them moved nor said anything.

"What are you doing to me, Elizabeth?"

A half-confession, hidden in a dull whisper. She kept her eyes closed, too afraid that the moment would vanish otherwise, but slightly jerked her chin forward, tentatively searching for what she knew _had to_ be there. Plump lips that had this insane power of unraveling her, no matter the circumstances.

Except that he... kind of did the same thing, and the result was a pathetic example of lack of coordination, bumping noses and failed landings. But it didn't matter.

An instant later, she didn't know who reached for the other's lips first. Their mouths crashed together, feverish, in a hot mess of shared ragged breaths and bruising kisses. His hand at the back of her head entangled in her hair and she opened her mouth for his tongue with a little throaty noise to which he responded with a sharp inhale, his fingers twitching in her scalp and pressing her face closer against his.

Without breaking the kiss, he slowly put the gun down — at this point she'd practically forgotten about it, which... said a lot — dropping it on the nearest spa's edge, her hand still clasped around his. She immediately took that opportunity to intertwine their fingers and hold his hand in hers, broken mewls escaping her throat as he squeezed her fingers. Although he soon let go of her hand to cup her jaw and deepen the kiss, and she wrapped her arms around him, pulled him closer, still quite unable to fathom the fact that they'd both survived each other's every attempt at ending their lives.

At some point he broke the kiss to explore her neck, his hands roaming her body freely, and she dug her fingers in his skull with a soft moan, lost in some sort of trance where she wanted him so badly that nothing else mattered but his contact. Her hips grinded against him, oblivious of anything but the proximity of their bodies, and he responded by squeezing her ass, drawing hoarse sighs out of her throat.

Things were already escalating pretty fast, his fingers working at the first buttons on her blouse, although ripping them off would have been a better definition of what he was actually doing to them, when they both jumped at the deafening detonation. She immediately looked at the origin of the noise, realized that in their frantic urgency her hip had probably knocked a little the hot tub, causing the gun to abruptly slide down its floor and accidentally go off, leaving a perfectly round hole in the spa's wall before destroying one of the glass panels in Eric's office.

She rolled her eyes at Rio to realize that his first move had been to check on _her_ , eye her from head to toe and make sure that she wasn't hurt.

"You... you didn't put the safety back on," she stated in absolute dismay, her heart still pounding in her chest from her sudden panic.

"Guess I didn't," he replied, almost smirking, and she glared at him.

As if he hadn't been the one obnoxiously obsessed with firearms safety during the ephemeral lessons he'd given her, once upon a time. Don't hold it this way, Elizabeth, don't drop a gun like that, and have you checked the security, sweetheart? Well, fuck him!

A giggle of relief suddenly erupted from her chest, the desperate intensity of the previous moment definitely broken by the gunshot scare, and he smiled back at her with something looking like fondness in his eyes.

"Still wanna grab this bite?" he asked, a tentative olive branch.

She half-smiled. Something weak, probably a little pathetic, but at least the intention behind was there. But... she didn't want to go out and see people. Take the risk to ruin this fragile bloom of peace, this bubble of respite that maybe couldn't exist outside of a spa store. Boland Bubbles had never worn its ugly name better. Not to mention that her blouse was ruined.

"Actually, I have a better idea."

They had had _plenty_ of leftovers from the launch cocktail of the past week. The freezer and the fridge in the small kitchen where the employees usually had their lunch were full, the doors barely closing over piles and piles of food kept safely refrigerated inside. Most of it she'd baked herself – savory muffins, various canapés, colored cupcakes with icings delicately shaped like little hot tubs, one last attention that Dean had called a waste of time – along with some frozen stuff Dean had insisted for buying with a vague excuse about food allergies. Rio watched her pick some frozen food and put it in the microwave, his face unreadable.

She cleared her throat, embarrassed with the clear reminder of her inspecting the content of a fridge in front of him, "Just... just pick anything you want," she uttered, low, feeling the heat already prickling at her cheeks.

He chuckled, smirky, and for an instant she thought he was going to throw a joke of some sort about lack of bread. Something along those lines. But he seemed to change his mind and didn't say anything, just opened the fridge and stared at the shelves.

Eventually, she heard him close the door and she diverted her attention from the microwave, ready to offer him heating advice about whatever he'd picked.

She raised a brow, "Champagne?"

And sure, there were also a few bottles from the party, but of all things she wouldn't have expected him to —

"We never got to toast," he dryly replied with a pointed side glance, something cold and dark emanating from his demeanor.

The veiled allusion wasn't lost for her, and it felt like all the shining playfulness from an instant before had instantly tarnished under the shadow of their unspoken, unfinished business.

With such a premise, the fact that Rio messed up with the first bottle he opened and managed to accidentally spray half of its content over Beth's front actually came out as a relief. A comical one, almost. And at least it gave her a changing clothes pretext to escape for a minute or so the suffocating sensation of his presence.

Not that she had ever stockpiled spare clothes at the store, though. So she stole a robe from the bathing aisle to replace her soaked outfit — her blouse was already ripped and several buttons were missing anyway, along with some fluffy towels she spread on the ground and used as a tablecloth.

They ate in silence, the improvised picnic strangely awkward but not as insufferable as she'd thought it would be. Quiet, but not in a painful way. Eating together wasn't something they did, but it would probably have hit a higher level of embarrassment had they gone out, displayed this togetherness in front of a random audience. At least in the protective shelter of the store they could still pretend it wasn't a big deal. It _wasn't_ anyway.

Lost in her thought while nibbling at a savory-sweet muffin stuffed with pear, blue cheese, and walnut, she absent-mindedly ran one hand at the nape of her neck, rubbed a sore muscle, winced at the feeling.

"Need help with that?"

She repressed an instinctive and quite sour comment about how Rio's presence might be part of the problem, because, well. They might have agreed on a fragile truce, but he could still take it all back. Withdrawal period and everything.

"You know," she slowly started, "I don't think that — Owww!"

She literally _growled_ as he rubbed a particularly tense spot. He _did_ have talented fingers, after all. Not that she'd ever doubted of that last fact, but she'd just... tried to convince herself he wasn't _that_ good, perhaps.

But his fingertips roamed the skin of her upper back with just the right amount of pressure, eliciting relieved sighs from her lips as he pulled on every sensitive string in her muscles, unraveled the tensions, flooded her insides with relaxing warmth and just played her like an instrument that he seemed to be the only one to have ever studied, apparently satisfied with the melody he was drawing out of her throat.

Beth was riding high on his relaxing ministrations. So high she eventually leaned back into him, felt his breath, hot against her neck. His lips accidentally brushed she shell of her ear and she couldn't repress the tiniest moan at his contact, instantly wanting more of it, the fullness of his lips, the wetness of his tongue, the sharpness of his teeth.

He froze.

Suddenly pulled back, and as she turned her head she saw his expression darkening, as if he'd just remembered what he was doing. _Who_ he was doing it with.

"Yeah I should go."

There wasn't much to respond to this. She didn't plan on starting to ask him to stay because... just because. She silently watched him pick back his gun, check for forgotten stuff.

"Whatchu gonna do when I'm gone?"

The question, abrupt, took her off-guard. She smoothened the fabric of her robe against her thighs.

"I guess I'll take a dip," she eventually provided.

After all, she could use some relaxing time.

As if to flesh out more her instantly made-up answer, she got up and powered on the biggest four stars model, the one on the main display station, with embedded Bluetooth functionality and built-in essential oils diffusers.

"Cool."

And just... He could have been gone already. But he lingered, for God knew why. So. She might as well ask.

"What about Fitzpatrick? Are you... are you going to kill him?"

Not that she cared so much about Fitzpatrick's whereabouts. In fact, if she could just never hear from him again after he'd betrayed her for Rio's _money_ , well...

"Nah... Was thinking 'bout hiring him with a permanent hit on you. Case somethin' happens to me," he added, almost playful.

And that... That wasn't what she'd meant by never hear from him again. Her head whipped back towards Rio and she stepped closer, stood in front of him. 

She sighed, "Do we have to make it so complicated?"

He stretched a hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear, tired resignation and amused fondness tightly woven together in his dark gaze.

"You know I can't trust you, Elizabeth," he whispered, slightly shaking his head. "I give you chance after chance and you keep blowin' them away."

Which — well, putting all the blame on her was a little bit _rich_ at this point, she considered, her eyes on the ground, her teeth sunk deep in her bottom lip. But maybe staying stuck in the past, abiding by this inextricable fabric of mutual resentments layered and woven in together was the problem.

His fingertips were still lingering somewhere around her temple and she gently wrapped one hand around his wrist, dragged his hand lower and lower until she pressed his palm over her pounding heart, right where the fluffy side of her robe was parting, revealing a bit of her upper chest. His jaw rocked back and forth at the contact but he denied her any other reaction, which somehow encouraged her.

At least he wasn't pushing her away.

Slowly, she slid her other palm along his jaw, stroked his lips with her thumb, her eyes searching his own for any sign of rejection. She didn't find any. Although he didn't respond. Just watched, and sort of let her in. So she pressed against her toes and kissed him, softly, tentatively, a renewed first time. A timidly stretched hand of reconciliation. A plea for forgiveness. An invitation to move forward.

He didn't flinch.

But he didn't kiss her back either.

She kissed him until she felt too silly to keep going, until she thought she was going to cry at this nonsense if she stayed alone in the middle while she'd been expecting him to meet her halfway.

His lips moved against hers the second she started pulling away — because obviously the sneaky asshole would! — so she just... didn't. Clung to his face instead. They kissed slowly, quietly at first, as if taking their time to get reacquainted with each other. And the truth was, there were thoughts, questions in her mind that she wouldn't — couldn't — say. Ever. Things she sometimes didn't quite understand herself. But maybe she could still try to tell them. With her mouth. Lips. Tongue. 

Until he slipped his ridiculously large hands under her robe, his warm palms sliding along the soft skin of her breast, her belly, her hips, and she got too distracted to even keep thinking.

"Fuck, I'm never gonna leave this place if you're in it lookin' like this," he whispered against her lips.

She gasped, unsure of whether it was because of what he'd just said or because he'd squeezed her ass at the same time.

She broke the kiss, looked him straight in the eyes.

"Then stay."

This time, he didn't pull away when she started unbuttoning his shirt.

She kept her eyes locked with his as she slowly let herself kneel down in front of him, blindly fumbled with his belt buckle. He swallowed, loaded anticipation burning in his gaze and she lost no time at unzipping his pants.

She wasn't exactly sure of what she was doing down there. Well, not the... _mechanics_ of the whole thing obviously, those she'd been more than well acquainted with for literal _decades_ but the... the motivations maybe, remained unclear.

It wasn't — apologetic, not completely at least, although a part of her definitely could have been described as a little sheepish. But she wasn't... offering a compensation of some sort, as she'd always had with Dean. And more than often he'd also asked for it as some kind of reward for having done this or that — mostly household stuff, if she was truly honest. A grown-up kind of candy.

But this... this was different. She wanted to, for starters. And... sure, there was also something thrilling, empowering even, in the changing expression on his face, the way he briefly closed his eyes whenever she'd suck just a little bit harder, the marks his teeth would leave in his bottom lip in response to the dancing of her tongue against him. His soft gasps when she hummed, the vibration reverberating from her throat to his spine.

But at the bottom of it all, immersed in her deepest murky waters, she just... Fuck it, she just wanted to make him feel good. Try not to be destructive, for once. Prove to him that she could... what? Give. Be trusted. Maybe she was tired of embodying for him this two-dimensional character of evil nemesis. Maybe there was more to look for.

His eyes didn't leave hers the whole time, an enigmatic light flickering behind the cloud of lust.

At some point he entangled one hand in her hair but he just... left it there. Didn't interfere with her own rhythm, although he'd sometimes grip a little harder with a soft groan when she'd let him hit a spot particularly deep in her throat.

His hips were slightly swaying under her ministrations, his eyes reluctantly closing more often, when he eventually gripped her hair in an unmistakable fashion. And, well. She ignored the tell-tale. Not that it wasn't _basic_ courtesy from him to warn her. And although she was merely used to it — thanks to Dean's consistent insistence over the years — it... definitely wasn't her favorite part.

But... but watching him unravel as _he_ watched her take it and swallow it all, greedily, it felt like a completely different kind of... of... of _situation_.

She took her time to lick him all clean before she deigned to obey to the strain of his palm cupping her cheek and gently pulling her up. He kissed her, deeply, his hands slipping underneath the fabric of her robe, fingertips teasing her cunt, and he couldn't disguise his choked groan at how wet he found her.

Her throat vibrated in acknowledgment, her hips bucked against his hand, her hands grabbed his waist, pulled him closer, and he smiled against her lips. 

"Gimme five," he whispered.

It didn't even take him this long. 

He kissed her deeply a couple of times while his fingers pumped in and out of her before he yanked the knot on her robe belt and spun her compliant self with eased practice. His mouth attacked her neck and shoulders, his hands roamed her front, eliciting chocked whimpers from her every time his fingers squeezed her breasts or circled her clit, and soon he bent her over the tub's edge, turning her whines to moans as he pushed deep inside of her, not completely hard yet but she was so drenched that he probably could have entered her while still flaccid. 

Their ragged breaths and the slapping of their skins were the only sounds piercing the silence in between her vocal pleas. In a way, it made it all more real, more carnal. Reminded her of how they were both made of flesh, muscles, and bones, their blood giving life to those otherwise inert pieces of machinery, which... really wasn't something she should have focused on right now.

And as much as the feeling of him filling her, of his hands pressing her skin, of his body moving against her, was overwhelming and drew those high-pitched and barely controlled sounds from her throat, there was a growing part of her who got hit by the metaphysics. By how neither of them should be alive by now to do this, and how whatever gloomy bitterness kept flying above their interactions, ready to feast with the remains, it wasn't the part that she wanted.

She didn't want his resentment nor his contempt, as he angrily thrust in and out of her. She didn't want this _baggage_ between them, heavier by the minute as they kept adding stuff on top of the pile while pretending they were solving things. Her emotional kaleidoscope of a day flooded all over her mind until something snapped shut tight inside of her and her arousal vanished, tears spilling out from her eyes before she even knew it.

He felt her mood switch instantly.

His hips froze, his hands suddenly softening on her, "Want me to stop?"

And God, wasn't this humiliating. She was _fine_!

"No," she said, summoning in her voice every nuance of lust she could find and hating how unconvincing it went out.

"Did I..." he trailed off, concern leaking from his tone and she almost jumped at his unsaid conclusion.

"No!" she protested.

She wiped her eyes without thinking, almost out of reflex, and he pulled out in response.

"That's it. I don't fuck cryin' people."

"I'm not crying!" she retorted against the obvious, standing up and turning around to face him, a burning blush already flashing across her cheeks.

She forced her gaze not to drop on Rios' still half-hard cock and the way he was almost comically standing, partially denuded in front of her. He probably sensed the awkwardness too because, suddenly self-conscious, he tucked himself back into his pants, the resulting bulge under the fabric of his jeans still appealing to her despite her confused state.

"What's goin' on, Elizabeth?"

Her eyes snapped back up, her gaze met his own as his darkened eyes searched her face for a clue. She bit her bottom lip, the motion far from suggestive.

"Why am I still alive?"

Her words bled in the silence, heavy like lead, her lips still parted as if she was about to elaborate. But she didn't need to. The implication was clear. After everything she'd done, after the expression he'd worn on his face when he'd come to the showroom, after he'd almost strangled her, the fact that she was still breathing surprised even herself.

He sighed, added a dramatic and exhausted shrug to his response, "You know why."

"I want you to say it."

For the first time she saw him thrown off-balance, genuinely unsure of his next move. He seemed to hesitate. A muscle twitched in his jaw, the only visible sign of his turmoil. 

Eventually he stepped closer, until she had to tilt her head up to keep staring at him. He slipped a finger under her chin. His face was crumpled by something she couldn't identify, close to anger but... not exactly. Frustration would probably hit the target a little closer to the center.

"You under my skin and I hate it," he whispered, almost defeated.

There was something dark, and painful, in his expression, as if he knew she would cause his ruin but couldn't help himself anyway. And... that at least felt like something familiar.

"Me too," she breathed.

There was a beat. 

A flame of understanding connivance suddenly lighting up in one shadowy corner of their usually dark land of miscommunication.

And in the truce of this strange companionship, eventually he exhaled, let go of her chin, and took a step back.

Flashed a toothy smile at her. Jerked his chin at the luxury spa.

"Mind if I join you?"

"More?"

She nodded, enthusiastically. Opened her mouth, resisted the urge to stretch out her tongue too, but it wouldn't have helped anyway. In his attempt at feeding her directly from the bottle Rio mostly poured champagne all over her mouth and chest and she erupted in uncontrollable giggles. God, he was the clumsiest!

"To your aim..." she managed to say, choking on her own laughter.

He looked at her and tension seemed to take forever to decide whether or not it should rise. A vague instinct of panic started to stir deep inside of her, but almost immediately went back to sleep, for Rio's smile reached his eyes too.

"Can't let it all go to waste, yeah?"

The sparkling wine was pleasantly prickling against the skin of her collarbones, small bubbles eventually dissolving into the bigger ones of the hot-tub, and Rio's mouth darted for her chest, licking and sucking at her wet skin in his attempt at drinking it from her.

He wrapped his tongue around one of her nipples, although the champagne had definitely _not_ trickled down that far, but... not a top priority concern. She moaned, softly, cradled the back of his neck as his mouth let out the most obscene noises. He licked his way to her other breast, giving equal attention to both of them and she closed her eyes on the spectacle of his head looming over her, the feeling of his hand snaking below the water and sliding down, down, down, against her skin, their bodies surrounded by the swirling water where fragile bubbles ascended to blow and die in the surface.

Just like this fragile shell of peace wouldn't survive the break of dawn. And tomorrow they'd resume fighting, and jumping at each other's throat, and trying to outpace each other, because it seemed like the only thing they were capable of, and she'd have to face the girls' reaction to the latest developments, and she'd _definitely_ have to tell Rio about Annie and Mick's improbable friendship, and he — 

But —

Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all the people who sent me support and encouragements, here and on [my tumblr](https://bourbon-ontherocks.tumblr.com/), for their patience and for sticking to this story. I hope you liked this ending as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Post S3 Brio are in a very complicated place right now which makes them really tricky to write, there's so much resentment and anger on both sides that I hope I did them justice.
> 
> I may have some ideas for a part two but it would be extremely angsty so I'm not sure that anyone would want to read that? Okay who am I kidding, we love angst in this house!
> 
> [06/05 EDIT] I have noticed that I got a lot of new guests kudos lately, so first of all thank you very much, it's really nice to see that so many people appreciate my work! But also I would reaaaaaaally like to know how so many of you found out about my fics? Are you a group or something? If anyone of you guys could just post a comment to tell me, or send me an ask on my [tumblr](https://bourbon-ontherocks.tumblr.com) just to let me know that would be super nice because I'm dying to know!!! Thank you again!! 💖💖💖💖


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